


We've Met Before

by QueenoftheProcrastination



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, Espionage, F/M, Hook-Up, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, Tumblr Prompt, Vaginal Sex, one shot turned into multi chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 60,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheProcrastination/pseuds/QueenoftheProcrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her past catches up with her in the most unlikely of ways when Elena Trevelyan realizes she's met one of her new bosses at Inquisition Consulting Firm before. Amid strange rumors of secret cults from the north, a new powerful drug burning its way through the poor neighborhoods of the city, and parts of her past that she'd prefer to stay hidden coming uncomfortably to light, will she and Commander Rutherford ever find a moment to talk about their night together? Or are the burning looks he gives her words enough to communicate what she's finding more and more difficult to deny: that she wants nothing more than to fall back into his arms--and bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kirkwall

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr askbox prompt: "Some smut with this sentence "you think you're so tough,baby put your hands up"'. I made it Modern AU setting since "baby" doesn't really sound medieval / fantasy like to me. Set before DA: Inquisition but after DA:II.

Cullen wasn’t quite sure what madness had possessed him to leave his quiet apartment for the bar down the street, but here he was, sitting by himself and knocking back whiskey like the Blight was in town. He shook his head; at least the thudding of the bass distracted him from the pulsing, aching need for lyrium in his veins. Not that drinking himself blind was a good way combat withdrawal. But some nights there was really no other cure. Besides, if he drank enough, the dreams wouldn’t come.

Old military habit found him positioned with his back to the wall and a view of all exits easily at hand. Which, he would admit if pressed, afforded him a nice view of the dance floor as well. Cullen didn’t dance, not really, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching the other patrons do so; he like people watching in general, to begin with, and it certainly helped that there were many beautiful women currently in the bar as well.

Not that he was particularly lucky on that front either, lately.

A flurry of activity at the other end of the counter caught his eye. He turned just in time to see a slight, red-headed woman slam a man’s head into the bar.

“I said NO.”

Cullen stood, ready to intervene—old Templar habit die hard, after all. Damsels in distress and all that.

“You fuckin’ bitch! You broke my nose!” The man reared up, blood spurting between his fingers, the other hand balled into a first.

Cullen positioned himself behind the woman, arms folded over his chest, and glared. “I believe the lady would like you to leave.”

The man’s eyes narrowed at Cullen’s words, but instead of pressing the issue, he spit a mouthful of blood on the floor and stalked away. The woman spun around to face him, and he could see a smart retort die on her tongue as her eyes swept up his form, finally meeting his eyes. Maker’s breath but she was beautiful. Delicate features framed large green eyes and full lips. Her red hair tumbled down her back to her waist and he wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Cullen licked his lips, perhaps it was the whiskey, but he was enjoying the way she was staring at him.

“You seemed to have the situation sorted, but I do hate to see anyone bother a lady,” he continued, voice rich with a hint of a Fereldan accent. He held out a hand to her, “Cullen Rutherford, at your service.”

That finally snapped her out of her daze. 

With an appreciative smile, she shook his hand. “Elena, and thank you.” 

He raised his eyebrow at her introduction, though his grin remained. 

“Elena is it? Pleasure to meet you. Well, if you’re in no more need of aid…” he trailed off, making to go back to his seat.

“Wait,” she called, tugging her lower lip with her teeth. “Can I at least buy you a drink?”

“I won’t say no to that.” he agreed eyes sweeping over her form again before settling onto the stool next to hers.

Perhaps his luck was going to turn around, he thought as she ordered them another round. Once they were served, she clinked their glasses together.

“To chivalry,” Elena cheered.

“To maidens who rescue themselves,” he answered back, a smile curving over his lips.

She laughed and knocked her drink back. Cullen took a sip of his double whiskey neat, eyes wandering down the long curve of her neck, past the deep V of her dress. She caught his eye and winked.

“See something you like?”

“Perhaps,” he said with a slow smile, cheeks flushing just a bit from liquor and being caught. Leaning forward, he rested one big hand on her thigh, thumb resting just below the hem of her dress. “What brings you to Kirkwall?”

“Oh, you know…” she trailed off, waiving her hand vaguely. “Just wanted to see the world.”

He nodded, fully aware that she was avoiding the question. Well, let her have her secrets. He didn’t need to know her life story to—well, he wasn’t sure what the night would bring, but a man could hope. Cullen could feel his body reacting to her—one good thing about being off lyrium was that he was much more _responsive_. It didn’t help that she kept licking her lips and biting them. Maker, what he’d like to see her do with that mouth.

“So,” she continued, a hand resting on his arm. “What do you do?”

He took a drink of his whiskey. That was a more complicated question that she knew. What did he do? Struggle to piece the city back together after a terrorist attack and internal coup from his former boss? Well, not anymore. He had quit the Templar Order—the city’s elite paramilitary security force. Now he was just, well…now he was just looking for a new job. But he supposed you can take the man out of the order, but not the order out of the man.

“I’m a Templar,” he finally answered.

She cocked an eyebrow, eyes wandering over the muscles of his chest and arms. “I see.”

“Where are you staying?” He asked, thumb tracing circles against the smooth skin of her leg, trying to shift the conversation away from himself and his failings.

Even over the din of the club, he heard her breath hitch at the contact. Briefly his eyes were drawn down, to where her breasts rose and fell with each heavy breath. Glancing back up, he saw her eyes traveling over his body; Cullen was glad he’d worn one of his old work shirts—the white button up was a tad on the tight side, and judging by Elena’s appreciative stare, it had been the right decision.

“Nowhere yet,” she murmured, letting her legs fall open just a tad more under his touch.

“Are you planning on sleeping in the Chantry?”

The chantry left its doors open for anyone to sleep on the cushioned pews, and the sisters provided a hot breakfast in the morning. Most travelers looking to keep their costs down at least considered it, and a lot of the city’s homeless could be found there as well.

“You disapprove, ser?” She teased, running one fingertip down the line of his jaw to flick the cleft in his chin.

He chuckled and captured her errant hand in his larger one. Before he could think better of it, he brought her fingers to his mouth, brushing his lips over her knuckles, all the while keeping his eyes locked on hers. Even in the dark he could see the flush run over her cheeks.

“It doesn’t seem like the nicest of places for a lady to sleep,” he said, voice low and husky.

“Oh? Where else would you recommend?” She inquired, leaning close to him, and curling her fingers around his own.

He could feel the desire rolling off of her, sweet and warm, just how she smelled. Bright eyes traveled down the panes of his body, and a small noise fell from her lips at as her eyes landed on thighs and groin. Cullen quirked his lips into a wry half-smile.

“My bed.”

“Oh?” her head jerked up to catch his gaze again, a satisfied smile spreading across her lips. “I could be persuaded.”

He grinned, feeling a hot pulse of excitement surge through his body. Before he could suggest they finish their drink and move to his apartment, she tugged on his hand.

“I love this song. Come dance with me,” she motioned towards the dance floor.

His reply that he didn’t dance died in his throat as she pulled him out of his seat, her hips swaying in an exaggerated manner as she lead him into the crush of people. The song was an electric mix, a hard bass thumped against his head but the refrain sounded familiar. _You think you’re so tough? Baby put your hands up._ Elena swayed around him, the curves of her body accentuated by glancing strobe lights. He settled his hands on her hips, enjoying the way thin fabric of her dress bunched under his fingers. She winked, before turning around, pressing her backside into his groin. Cullen groaned, and pulled her in closer to him. Maker she felt good as sin against him—it had been too long since he’d held a woman. She pressed into him harder; Cullen could feel himself stiffening now, aching for her. He swayed his hips with her, hands wandering up her torso, brushing just below her breasts.

“You think you’re so tough,” he whispered into her ear, along with the song. “Baby put your hands up.”

Her entire body shivered against him at his words. Cullen pressed his lips to her neck, just over her pulse. The feeling of her pert ass pressed up against his stiffen cock make heat coil in his belly. She slowly moved her arms above their heads, wrists rolling sensuously through the air, before she settled them around his neck. Cullen ghosted his hand up her side to cup her chin. He angled her face up towards him, lips capturing hers. She moaned into his mouth, hips rolling wickedly against him. His other hand slid lower, brushing against her sex.

Her hips jerked forward, and she spun around to face him, hands sliding down to fist the fabric of his shirt. She looked up at him, eyes hot with desire; he shivered, skin suddenly too hot under her gaze.

_Don’t fuck this up, Rutherford, he ordered._

Cullen smiled and let his hand come to rest on the curve of her bottom as he nudged his knee between her legs, pulling her against him. She came willingly, a soft moan falling from her lips. Her hand slid down the panes of his chest to palm his cock, eyes widening when she felt the size of him. He moaned, head pitching forward to nuzzle against the crook of her neck.

“Take me home, Templar,” she pleaded into his ear, voice dripping with want.

Cullen didn’t have to be told twice.

~*~

Cullen couldn’t believe this was happening—that this gorgeous woman had agreed to go home with him. They had no more than entered the hallway before his desire and need over took him; he savaged her lips, hungry and desperate, tongue sliding against her own. A wanton moan tore through her throat as he pressed her up against the door of his apartment. One big hand squeezed at her breast as his other hand blindly fumbled with unlocking the door behind them. Elena wrapped her arms around his neck and jumped, locking her legs around his hips; he gave a muffled grunt and curled into her. He could feel the heat between her legs rub against his throbbing cock. _Fuck fuck fuck_. It felt so good to have a woman spread her legs for him.

The wood gave behind her, and Cullen stumbled into the entrance way, kicking the door closed behind them. Elena shivered and raked her fingers through his hair, eliciting a growl as Cullen slammed their bodies up against the nearby wall. His hands squeezed her breasts, up and together, before he dipped his head, lips burning a trail of fire down her heated flesh. Her breasts were warm and heavy in his hands as he rolled and kneaded them. Tugging the front of her shirt and bra down, he suck one of her pert, pink nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud. He rutted into her, rolling his hips _up_ and _down_ against her throbbing center, cock throbbing with need. Heat blossomed outwards, spreading through his body like a raging fire. He wanted to fuck her right there, against the wall. 

“Fuck me,” she moaned, jerking as his tongue laved over her sweet flesh.

He laughed and drove his hips upward into her once more, “oh, I plan to.”

“Bed?” she panted, rolling back against his bucking.

“Right,” he murmured, hands sliding under her ass for stability as he carried her through the living room into his bedroom.

They collapsed onto his bed in a tangle of limbs and lips, and oh the feeling of her soft, warm body under him was delicious. Cullen sat up, heated gaze boring into her. Lights from the city below illuminated the room just enough to see the contours of her face and body, the generous curve of her breasts and hips, the fullness of her lips, the burning want of her gaze—it set fire to his body, and aching need building near unbearably in his groin. He yanked on the back of her calves, pulling her closer to him along the bed so that he settled between her knees. Maintaining eye contact, he slid his hands down the creamy length of her thighs, the drag of his skin on hers maddeningly slow as he inched towards the hem of her dress. The way she was looking at him—sweet Andraste, it made his heart hammer in his chest and his cock ache. 

The hem of her dress rucked up around her hips against his hands. He wanted to touch her sex, sweet Maker did he ever want to. But Cullen wanted to drag this out, build and stoke the fire burning through them higher and higher until they were both consumed. Dragging his hands back down her legs, he chuckled at her pout and frustrated bucking of her hips.

“Maker, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, hardly darning to believe this woman was in his bed, legs spread and face flushed with desire. 

Beneath him, Elena cupped her breasts through her dress, rolling and kneading them the way he had been moments ago in the hallway. Hips bucking against his thighs. Fire burned deep in his belly, he could see that she wanted him desperately, and she wanted him now.

“Cullen,” she mewled. “Fuck me. _Please_.”

With a crooked grin fixed on his lips, Cullen reached back and pulled his shirt over his head. A hiss escaped his mouth as she reached forward, fingertips running over the lines of his muscles almost on their on volition. She traced a scar just above his navel, lower and lower until her fingers brushed the waistline of his trousers. Lower still until she was cupping his cock. 

“Like what you feel?” he asked.

She squeezed him hard through his trousers. “Yes. I wan’t you, _this_ , inside of me.”

In a flash, he leaned down again, caging her face between his strong hands. His mouth locked to hers, coaxing and pressing her lips apart. Scraping his teeth against her bottom lip, he sucked it into his mouth. She tasted like sunshine and fire. He needed to be inside of her, to feel her walls squeeze around him, hot and wet.

Cullen ran his hands down her body, thumbs pausing to rub her nipples until she keened, back arching into him. Down lower, to the narrow curve of her waist, to the flair of her hips. He pushed her dress up, revealing black lace and creamy skin. She sat up, wiggling and helping pull her dress over her head. A flurry of movement and the rest of their clothing joined it on the floor.

They knelt before each other, her legs parted just enough that he could—oh Maker. Her eyes wandered down his body, breath hitching in her throat as she took in the sight of his hard cock, standing thick and ready for her. She smiled shyly, looking up at him from below her lashes—she suddenly seemed more vulnerable, younger even.

“How do you want me, Templar?” she whispered, voice thick with want.

Heat shot through him at her words, straight to his groin. Slowly, he crawled towards her, keeping his gaze locked on hers; he could see her pulse beating wildly against her throat, and her eyes widened as if he were a lion a she his prey. As he reached her, she lowed herself to the mattress. He wanted to wretch her legs apart and bury himself up to the hilt.

“Spread you legs for me,” he commanded.

“Like this?” She asked, stroking her thighs as she opened them for him, fingers trailing, _up, up, up_ towards her slick folds.

“Just like that, baby,” he growled, hand dipping between her legs to find her wet and wanting. “Put your hands up.”

Elena bit her lips, stifling a moan as she gripped his headboard, knuckles white in anticipation. Cullen cupped her sex, running his fingers against her opening, teasing her. Slickness coated his fingers. Slowly, Cullen pressed one digit into her, mesmerized as she bucked off the mattress as so simple a feeling. He could hear his own breath, harsh and heavy as he contemplated what to do with her.

“Do you like that? Mmm, so sweet and tight,” he panted, as he began a steady rhythm of thrusts into her. “Do you want another finger? Or should I use my mouth?”

She let out a high pitched keen as his thumb brushed her clit. “Mouth, please. Cullen. I want your mouth on me.”

Her sweet begging was music to his ears. The way she rolled her hips against his hand, desperate for more—more touch, more friction, more of him. Grinning, he ran his hands up over her thighs to grip her hips, grounding them firmly against the mattress. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he lowered his head slowly to her. He watched her face contort from aching anticipation to sweet, blissful pleasure as he licked broad, flat strokes against the full length of her slit. The image of her, eyes screwed shut tight, hands fisting in the sheets, back arched as he buried his face between her legs was one that would stay with him, was one that sent fire burning down his spine and made his cock twitch in anticipation and longing. He rubbed his nose against her clit as he pressed his tongue deep into her tight, wet heat. She was moaning now, sweet melodies of desire as she rolled her hips against his face, hands tangling in his hair. Cullen rutted against the bed, trying to relieve some of the aching need tasting her brought him. Curling two fingers _up_ and _in_ to her, he sucked her pink bud into his mouth, rolling it around his tongue. Her legs began to tremble around his head, her body taut and ready for release. He pressed a third finger into her, stroking that sweet spot as her lavished her clit with oral ministrations.

“Yes, yes, just like that, oh, Cullen, ooh, oh, OH,” she came with a scream, and a sweet flood rushed against his face.

Once her legs had relaxed enough that he could lift his head, he did so, cocky smirk fixed to his face. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and chin as he regarded her; he was rather surprised, but Maker that was sexy. A flush burned high on her cheeks, her lips slightly parted.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was going to do… _that_ ,’’ she whispered, bring her hands to cover her face.

“ _That_ was beautiful,” he rumbled, crawling further up her body, and pulling her hands away so that he could look into her eyes. “And I want to make you do it again.”

Cullen couldn’t help but grin at the flush his words brought. He lowed himself over her, settling between her legs, his cock pressed hot against her stomach. He nuzzled her neck, fingers stroking her jaw and hair. Her arms lock around his shoulders, hips bucking against him, begging for more.

“Please,” she moaned, rubbing the slick heat of her desire along his length.

Cullen groaned, almost loosing himself right there as heat shot through his body. She reached down, small hands grasping his cock. Cullen deepened their kiss, spilling his moans deep past hers lips the same way he ached to spill his seed. His manhood twitched, hot and heavy, at her touch. Slowly, she pumped him his length, her fingers wonderful against him, sending fire spiraling out along his thighs and straight to his balls. .

“Sweet Maker,” he moaned again.

Elena guided the head of his cock against her entrance, and rubbed him against her. Cullen pressed his face to the crook of her neck. She was hot and _soaking_. He rolled his hips, and she spread open for him. Stars erupted across his vision as he slowly sank into her. 

“So tight,” he murmured, kissing the column of her neck. “So hot.”

One hand slid down, cupping her hip, anchoring her to the bed. Cullen dragged himself almost completely out of her, before thrusting back in; she moaned, and opened her legs wider, begging him with her body for more.

“Again,” she pleaded.

Flexing his hips, he slid his cock almost out of her tight heat, and snapping back in, faster than before. Her back arched under him, pressing her pert nipples against his chest. He set a furious pace, hips slamming into her again and again.

Velvet. She felt like velvet against him, around him. She was moaning now, writhing underneath him. Her hands roamed over his body, scraped down his back, tangled in his hair. His name fell from her lips with each hard snap of their bodies joining.

He could feel his release coming from the ache in his balls and the sweet feeling of her sex pulsing around him. Capturing her lips with his own, Cullen coaxed her mouth open, brushed his tongue along her own.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he whispered against her kiss swollen lips. “Come for me.”

Her hand snaked between their bodies, seeking her pink bud. She stroked herself with firm, fast strokes, meeting the pace of his cock pounding into her. Cullen kissed her again, hard and deep, swallowing her cries as her legs began to shake around him, her back arching off the bed.

“That’s it,” he whispered, trailing kisses against her neck, biting and licking as he went. “Just like that. Maker you’re so beautiful, so—“

His words were drowned out in the sound of Elena shattering beneath him, unraveling against him, around him. Her wet heat throbbing so tight around his cock. Nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood, eyes screwed shut, mouth wide opened. His name on her lips as she screamed and moaned and bucked against him, desperate for more, to prolong her pleasure. His cock twitched, aching inside of her, ready for his own release. Cullen thrust hard, hilting himself in her again and again, fire burning in the pit of his belly, higher and hotter until—

He growled, teeth sinking into the tender skin of her shoulder as he spent himself within her.

Hips shuddering to a stop, he slowly pulled out of her, and rolled onto his back. Cullen’s breath came out in hard, short pants as he struggled to ground himself back to earth. He could feel her curling against his side, arm sliding over his chest. He looked down at her. Grinning, he brushed a kiss over her forehead and stroked her hair with his free hand.

“That was…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say; _thank you_ seemed silly, _wow_ seemed juvenile.

“Wonderful,” she purred, hooking one leg over his hips and pressing kisses to his chest and shoulder.

“Stay with me?” He murmured into her hair.

“Of course, Cullen.”

In the darkness, Cullen traced the lines of her body, kissed the dimples and freckles of her skin. Elena outlined his muscles with her fingertips, tongue, lips, until they melded against each other again. Joining in a tangle of limbs and bodies that was sweet and slow, until she was crying his name again and he, hands curled into fists in the sheets, found another release. They finally sank into sleep, still tangled in each other.

~*~

Cullen awoke to a bright sun burning through his eyelids, head aching from want of lyrium and too much whiskey. He rolled over, burying his face under the pillows, arms flung wide across the bed. He had been having the most amazing dream—a beautiful, mysterious woman had agreed to share his bed, and _wait_.

Cullen sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There was no sign of Elena in his bed and the rest of the apartment sounded silent. He padded into the kitchen to find the coffee machine just finishing a fresh pot. He shook his head, trying to remember if had set the alarm on the blighted thing last night, or if someone had started a pot and then disappeared. Pouring himself a cup, he sat at his table confused and not a little hurt. 

He set his cup down, gaze casting aimlessly around his empty kitchen. Suddenly, he noticed a note tucked under the coffee maker.

_Dear Cullen,_

_Thank you for the wonderful evening, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and I hope you did as well. Believe me when I say this is not what I wished you to awaken too, but it is for the best. I cannot stay in Kirkwall, and spending any more time with you would only weak my resolve to leave. I will hold dear the memories you gave me, and I hope you don’t mind that I took a lucky souvenir for myself._

_Perhaps we will meet again under more forgiving circumstances. I can only hope._

_Yours,_

_Elena T._


	2. Three Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all asked for it, and since I am a benevolent goddess, here’s a continuation of my CullenxF!Trevelyan modern AU. I’ve mapped out a rough plot line, so this will be a multi-chapter story, not just an update. Hope you like it! The pacing might be a little off—I’m still trying to hit my stride in modern!Thedas.

_Three Years Later_

Elena Trevelyan kicked off her heels as she slammed the front door of her apartment closed behind her. The sound of heavy wood slamming against the door frame echoed down the hallway.

“Dorian! I got the job!” She called, rounding the corner into the bright lit living room.

Her dark-haired roommate looked up from where he sat on the couch, the wide grin on his face mirroring her own.

Dorian unfolded himself, taller than her by a head, dark eyes twinkling and mustache impeccably waxed. Sometimes she worried she would never look as put together as he did. 

He held his arms open to her and Elena flew into his embrace. He spun her around the room, her feet flying behind her, coming precariously close to knocking into the coffee table. It was their ritual: good news, reunions after long partings, too much wine, any excuse, really.

“That’s excellent news, darling! Let’s crack open a bottle of wine to celebrate,” he cheered, setting her down lightly before heading to the kitchen.

She laughed and followed him

“I can’t believe it! Inquisition Consulting is such an important company. I mean, I still have a final interview with the three Vice Presidents—make sure there are no personal issues, you know, the usual,” she waived her hand dismissively. “But, Lady Montilyet offered me the job! Me?! Can you believe it?”

Dorian smile and handed her glass of red wine.

“Of course I can believe it. I’d hire you,” he teased, clinking their glasses together in a salute.  “Now you can finally pay me back all the rent you owe me. Oh, don’t worry about it. Let me make you dinner in celebration.”

Elena smiled and settled down at one of the island stools. She watched Dorian fetch various ingredients from the refrigerator—beef, cream, various and sundry vegetables. It looked like he was going to make her favorite meal: beef stroganoff.

“So who are the other VPs? You’ve told me about Lady Montilyet,” he asked, setting a pot of water to boil on the stove behind him.

“Yes, right. You know, I actually don’t know very much about them. It’s near impossible to find information about Inquisition on the web—they’re so secretive, and the Chantry only sort of approves. But Josephine mentioned a Leliana and the Commander. From what I can tell, Leliana oversees intelligence while the Commander—whoever that is, I’m assuming it’s a man—oversees all their security sector work. It’s a lot of paramilitary and mercenary business, I gather.”

Dorian made a face. “Strapping fellows with guns in jackboots, I see.”

Elena laughed, “Yes, I suppose. But it will be my job to coordinate between the three branches of the company. Josephine said she’d like me to come with her to the Conclave later this month.”

“And you’ll be fine with that? You and the Chantry aren’t exactly on the best of terms,” her roommate asked while he sliced mushrooms.

Och. Well, he was right. She and the Chantry didn’t exactly get along, not after—well, not after what happened three years ago.

Elena fixed a mock expression of hurt on her face and pressed one hand to her heart.“I’m always the height of professionalism, Dorian. It’s not my fault if some of the Reverend Mothers are still salty about what happened.”

“Yes, obviously,” Dorian snorted as he turned his back to her and approached the stove. “I wouldn’t however, recommend telling Mother Maryanne she’s “salty” to her face.”

She laughed, and shook her head, “I’m not daft.”

“What are you planning on wearing to, your interview?” He asked prudently choosing not to comment on her previous statement, all the while his hips wiggling a little as he stirred a pan full of garlic, onion, and mushrooms.

She paused, thinking. Though some people might think fashion frivolous, Elena found that the way she chose to present herself went quite a long way towards influencing situations to work in her favor. Surely, since she would be meeting with both men and women in a professional setting she needed something fashionable, but not overly so. Something prudent but not prudish.

“Maybe my charcoal skirt with the flippy hem and a button up. Paired with my blue blazer and matching heels?”

“White button up?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.

Elena felt herself blush. Of course he would pick up on that. It had been three years, and he was still teasing her—well, she couldn’t really blame him. After all, she did still have it sitting in her wardrobe.

“It’s lucky,” she mumbled, mind drifting back to the night the shirt in question came into her possession and the man it originally belonged it.  _Warm brown eyes and golden curls. A smirk hot enough it melt ice. Handsome features framed between her thighs._ Sometimes she thought about going back to Kirkwall and trying to find him again. Elena shook her head; no, that was not only impractical, but rather pathetic— _time to move on_.

“Perhaps not, then. If you think it’s weird,” she mumbled, snapping herself out of wistful thoughts.

Dorian turned to her, eyes soft. “Don’t worry, my darling girl, I’m sure you’ll find another man hot enough to melt your knickers off. And if you don’t, well, you’ll always have me. We can get married and scandalize all of Thedas.”

Elena threw her head back and laughed, “Uncle Halward would drop dead the moment he heard the news.”

“Thus the appeal of the plan,” Dorian snarked, turning back to the stove once he was satisfied she was no long glum.

~*~

Cullen drummed his fingers on the conference table. He hoped this meeting wouldn’t take too long; he had a mountain of work to get through by the afternoon. Not to mention the entire thing was a mere formality.

He glanced at the two women in the room with him—Josephine Montilyet and Leliana Nightengale, Vice Presidents of Inquisition Consulting Firm. He was the third VP, overseeing tactical issues and their paramilitary operations. This afternoon, they were conducting the final interview for a new hire—someone who could coordinate and streamline information between the three of them and help prioritize missions. In truth though, the decision had already been made, this interview was merely to introduce everyone.

He hadn’t looked at the dossier of information on their newest team member—normally, of course, he wouldn’t have over looked such a thing, but the weeks leading to the Conclave were busier than usual. Leliana and Josephine both seemed happy with their choice, and he trusted their judgments. He had of course had his assistant summarize the highlights—a minor Marcher noble with connections to Orlais and Tviniter. Fluent in multiple languages. Formerly worked as a liaison between the Free Marches and the Chantry. Whoever they were they sounded more the competent.

The door opened,  _finally_ , revealing Cassandra Pentaghast, their HR head, a grim look etched permanently on her face. She had done the initial interviews, before passing likely candidates on to Josephine and Leliana. There had been a number of applicants from all over Thedas—dwarves, elves, even a few Qunari—but this person has won the approval of his colleagues. Cassandra stepped aside and another woman came through the doorway.

Cullen’s heart stopped. His breath froze in his lungs as time screeched to a halt around him.  _She_  stood in the doorway, the woman he had longed for,  _ached_ for, over the last three years. Cullen screwed his eyes shut, willing himself to awaken from his dream. But no, she was still there when he opened them again, long auburn hair twisted up into an elegant bun, same shy smile on her lips.  _Elena._ She was looking at each of her new bosses in turn, eyes sliding from Josephine to Leliana, shaking hands over the table. She turned to him, and the world slammed back into motion.

Bright eyes widened almost imperceptibly as recognition filtered through, and her pleasant smile faltered for a second—she hadn’t been expecting to see him, but then, how, why was she here? How could she have just fallen into his life once again, after  _three fucking years_  of hopeful searching, after he had finally begun to give up? 

Fast as it came, the surprise was gone from her face and she wore a polite, blank expression once again.

“Elena Trevelyan of Ostwick, ser. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” her voice was calm and soft, but beneath it he could hear the echoes of the breathy cries he’d drawn from her during their night together.

Cullen shook her hand, fingers brushing over her the pulse point of her wrist and finding her heartbeat hammering wildly against delicate skin. He found that somewhat comforting; she may have been the last person he expect to stride through that door this morning, but she certainly hadn’t expected one of her new bosses to be, well,  _him_.

“Cullen Rutherford, and the pleasure is all mine,” he managed to smile, to sound normal and not like the woman of his dreams—quite literally in fact, he’d spent that last three years dreaming about their night together—had just waltzed through the doorway.

They all sat, and Josephine began speaking. Cullen wasn’t listening; all he could do was stare at the woman sitting across from him. She looked just the same as she had three years ago, just as beautiful in the daylight as she had been under the moon. Simply dressed, she was wearing a white button up shirt and a grey skirt, her blue jacket slung over the back of her chair in response to the heat of the room. Cullen blinked, pausing at the strange cut of her blouse.

_Sweet Maker_ , he thought, the realization making him sit up a little straighter, heat searing through his body and eyes widening imperceptibly.  _She’s wearing my shirt_.


	3. Madame Vivienne's

She tried not to look at him, Maker, did she ever try. She tried to keep her breath normal and her heartbeat from hammering wildly in her chest and she tried to stop her mouth from going dry at the sight of him. Elena tried, but she wasn’t sure that she succeeded.

Cullen Rutherford, the man who had taken her to bed three years ago—taken her to bed and fucked the living lights out of her so well that even now she couldn’t press her fingers between her legs without seeing his face in her mind’s eye—the man she had spent three years wondering about, was sitting across from her. Was her  _new boss_. And not only was he her new boss, but she was wearing the shirt that she stole from him the morning she left without much of a goodbye.

The Maker had a sense of humor.

Could this get any worse?

“Now, Lady Trevelyan, we do have a few final questions to go over with you,” Josephine said.

“Please, call me Elena,” she smiled, hoping it came off as relaxed. “And, of course, ask away.”

Josephine smiled and flipped through a few pages of her legal pad. “You are quite young. How would you answer those who challenge your ability to do this job based on lack of experience?”

“If one is never afforded an opportunity to prove oneself, despite lack of experience, then one will never  _gain_  experience, regardless of age. However, I have been working in international affairs since I was sixteen: first for House Trevelyan, under my father’s direction, then for a non-profit organization with branches throughout the Free Marches, and most recently for the Ducal Crown of Ostwick, here in the city. I believe I gave my references to Lady Pentaghast.” 

“Sixteen?” Cullen’s rich, Fereldan accent rolled over her, and she tried not to shiver. “How old are you, exactly, Lady Trevelyan?”

She snapped her gaze in his direction, trying to keep the blush from her face as he spoke to her. Surely he must know—surely they could all  _see_  the way his voice conjured up memories of their night of passion, how it made chills run over her skin. He was drinking from a glass of water, perhaps trying to show she didn’t affect him, or, perhaps, trying to slake a mouth dry with nerves. She wanted to shoot back a coy ‘I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours’, but now was definitely not the time or the place.

“I’m twenty-three, Mr. Rutherford.”

He coughed and set the glass down with perhaps more force than necessary. “I see.”

Josephine smiled politely, but Leliana looked as if she were trying to read something in a foreign language that she had studied years ago—as if the meaning was just beyond her reach, eluding her with fiendish familiarity. Elena made a mental note not to be in the same room with Cullen and Leliana at the same time, if she could help it. The last thing she needed was for the others to realize she and Cullen had met before, in a much more intimate setting.

They continued with a few more questions—how would you handle this situation? Which emissary would you introduce first in a group of foreign diplomats? She answered each with ease and confidence.

“I only have one more question,” Josephine said, looking up from her notes, eyes sparkling. “I have a small social event organized for next Saturday at my townhouse here in the city. Would you be so kind as to come? The three of us will be there,” that was said with a pointed look in Cullen’s direction, Elena noted. “As well as a number of our executives. I think it would be a wonderful opportunity to introduce you to the rest of Inquisition Consulting in a more relaxed atmosphere. What do you say?”

Everyone knew Lady Montilyet threw the best parties. And though she would never admit it, part the reason she wanted this job was to be invited. Briefly, she wondered, however, if going to a social gathering with all her new colleagues was a good idea when she was trying to keep the fact that she  _had slept with_  her new boss quiet--a feat which was looking more and more difficult for the sheer reason that every time he spoke or looked at her she was reminded of the press of his naked body over her own. 

“I would be delighted, just tell me the time and place.”  _Sweet Andraste, preserve me_.

“Oh, excellent! Tea is served at four, but people usually begin arriving at three. I’ll have a car sent to your house,” The Antivan cheered, clearly happy that Elena had agreed without any cajoling.

Elena smiled as they drifted off into pleasantries, trying to stop herself from fidgeting in her seat; she couldn’t wait to get out this conference room—to call Dorian and scream out her frustration and confusion about the entire situation. She tried to think of a polite way to end the interview, but before she could, Cullen stood, buttoning his suit coat. Elena couldn’t stop her eyes from roving over his broad, muscular form—still as perfect as she remembered.

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies, it appears the important part of the interview is over, and I have a mountain of paperwork to see to,” he paused, before extending his hand across the table to her. “It was a pleasure to meet you, again, Lady Elena. Welcome to Inquisition Consulting.”

The way his lips wrapped around her name sent shivers down her spine. She tried to ignore them as she stood and shook his hand—warm and large and calloused, just as she remembered as it dragged up her thighs. She smiled, and hoped her hand wasn’t shaking. The touch of skin on skin was electric, and she didn’t want to let go.

“Thank you, Mr. Rutherford,” she said with a smile, finally forcing herself to drop his hand.

His fingers trailed over her palm as he let go; Elena could feel their path along her skin long after he had left the room. 

“Well, I suppose the Commander is right,” Josephine said after the door had closed behind the man in question. “I suppose there’s nothing more to say than to welcome you aboard to Inquisition Consulting. We’ll see you promptly on Monday.”

Plans made and pleasantries again exchanged, Elena left the nondescript black glass building with a new folder of information in her hand—health insurance, security clearance information, building layouts, contact information, etc. etc--as well as her company-issued laptop and cellphone. She hailed a cab, personal phone already out of her purse, ready to call Dorian as soon as she slid across the leather seat.

“How’d it go, princess?” Dorian’s familiar voice flared to life over the line.

“It was a fucking disaster, D.” She hissed, cupping her hand over her mouth for some semblance of privacy. “ _He’s. My. New. Boss_ ,” 

“What? Who’s you’re new boss?”

Elena noticed the cabby watching her in the rear view mirror, eyes flicking between the road and the obviously distressed woman in the backseat. Anxiety flared hot in her stomach.

“Never mind. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”

“Wait! Elena—” She hung up the phone on his protests.

Now that she worked for Inquisition, she had to be careful about what information she said in public—Leliana had made her sign a forest’s worth of confidentiality papers; seeing as it was impossible to even find the fact that Cullen worked for Inquisition, let alone that he was one of the three people running it, she thought it might not be prudent to scream about it in a cab. Her phone buzzed in her hand, Dorian’s face flashing across the screen with insistence, but she let it go to voicemail. Home was only a fifteen minute’s ride away.

She drummed her fingers on the armrest, her mind wandering back to the interview, to  _him_. She hadn’t seen him in three years, and yet, he looked just as she remembered, strong, handsome. Well, perhaps that wasn’t quite true—try as she might not to look at his lips, she’d noticed a scar running through them on the right side of his face. And his stubble was considerably less groomed that before, an improvement, though, certainly.

And now that she’d seen him again, been excruciatingly near him, her desire was twenty times as ardent as before. All she could think of were his hands and lips, and  _oh Maker_ , this job was going to be the death of her.

The car pulled up to her apartment building, and she hopped out as quickly as possible, tossing a twenty sovereign note in the driver’s direction. When she finally made it up the stairs to their flat, Dorian was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“Andraste’s tits, woman. You can’t just say things like that and hang up!” He snapped.

She closed the apartment door behind them, and made her way into the living room. Sinking down onto the couch with a  _whoosh_ , she covered her face with her hands and groaned.

“Dorian. He’s my boss.”

“You keep saying that, but it never becomes any clearer,” he said, sitting down gracefully next to her.

“Cullen  _fucking_  Rutherford. Is my new boss.” She peeked between her fingers to gauge his reaction; he still looked confused.

“Cull—? Oh, holy shit,” Dorian’s eyes widened as understanding sank in.

“What am I going to do?” She said, a note of desperation high in her voice as she slumped against his arm.

Dorian was silent for a moment, and she watched dust motes dance through the golden afternoon sunlight.  _I should clean the apartment. That will distract me._

“Let him bend you over his desk and spank you for running out on him three years ago?” her roommate suggested. “I bet you ten sovereigns the thought’s already crossed his mind.”

Elena glared at him. “Not helping, Dorian. And I can’t fuck my boss,” she paused, and then added almost to herself. “Besides, I don’t even know if he’s interested anymore.”

“Technically, you already have, and I never said anything about fucking. Just spanking. It’s a crucial distinction.” Dorian sighed and slung his arm around her shoulder, rubbing her arm gently in small circles. “Did he say anything to you?”

“No. Well, yes, but not about…before,” she paused, thinking back to the moment she realized he was in the room. “Honestly, he looked like someone sucker punched him when he saw me.”

Dorian chuckled and patted her hand. “You do tend to have that affect on men. Oh, relax, darling,” he amended when he saw her glare. “I think I know just what will make you feel better.”

~*~

“Dorian, no! I’m not going to get paid for another month and you haven’t had a job since you set the University physics lab on fire in June,” Elena protested, digging her heels into the pavement.

Dorian rolled his eyes, “Elena, my love, let’s look at the facts. You have just been hired to work for a group of executives, one of which is known throughout Thedas for her style, another of whom is a noted fashion enthusiast, and the third is a man so hot dragons shy away from him. Fact number two, said executives have invited you to a private get-together. Fact number three, you need to get laid by aforementioned dragon-hot man, and the best way to do that is to make you look more radiant that Andraste herself. Fact number four, consider it a nameday present if it makes you happy. Now come on,” he said, with a final tug on her arm.

They entered the shop—an exclusive upscale boutique in the city’s fashion district. She had been here a handful of times before, especially when she needed an outfit for a special occasion, but only ever when they were having a sale. The walls were covered in light blue silk, and matching sofas and settees dotted the floor. Racks of rich, jewel toned dresses, skirts, and jackets lined the walls, with the back wall dedicated to the most intricate and sophisticated shoes Elena had ever seen. The air was sweet with jasmine and sandalwood—the product of numerous bouquets and incense burners placed strategically throughout the store.

“My nameday’s not for another two months, yet,” she grumbled.

Dorian pointedly ignored her as he glided over to the striking woman standing in the center of the room.

“My dear Vivienne, how lovely you look,” he purred, kissing her on both cheeks, hands clutching hers.

“Dorian, my dear, I was just remarking to Bastian that it has been entirely too long since I’ve seen you,” she returned, miming his kisses. “Ah, Elena, darling, wonderful to see you as always.”

Elena smiled and greeted the woman with a kiss on both cheeks as well, though she never could tell if Vivienne was actually happy to see her, or if she was just incredibly polite and charming. Elena had first met Vivienne years ago, when she was still the couturiere for the empress. Elena wasn’t quite sure what had caused the good lady to leave the imperial court, but Dorian assured her it was scandalous indeed.

“What brings you to my humble shop today?”

Dorian gestured to Elena, “My sweet cousin has need of one of your gowns for Lady Montilyet’s fete next Saturday,” he dropped his voice in mock secrecy. “And there is going to be a very special gentleman in attendance.”

Elena glared--wishing he’d had the tact to not mention Cullen. She could not afford to think of him in that light--not if she wanted to keep her job.

Vivienne’s dark eyes sparked to Elena, sizing the younger woman up as though this was the first time she was really seeing her. “I see. Well, darling, we shall have to find you something special, shan’t we?”

Despite her protests that there wasn’t anyone she was trying to impress  _especially,_ she tried on dozens of outfits. All of them were flattering and beautiful, but none of them were  _right_.

“Too revealing.” “Not revealing enough.” “No, too bright.” “Too muted.” “It’s the same color as your skin. No.” “The cut is all wrong for you.” “the length is off—you’re going to afternoon tea, not a formal dinner.”

Elena fidgeted in the dressing room, nervous to step out and hear yet another chorus of negativity. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, head bowed. When neither Vivienne nor Dorian immediately said anything immediately, she chanced a look up. Both were staring—Dorian eyeing appreciatively and Vivienne with scrutiny.

“Spin slowly for me, my dear,” Vivienne commanded.

Elena complied, the delicate fabric of the skirt flaring ever so slightly. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror. The dress was made of yellow lace, stitched in a daisy design over bright yellow silk. Knee length and with a high collar that kissed her clavicles with the delicate lace scalloping, the front verged on modest with its three-quarters length sleeves, but the back was bare and open, showing the pale expanse of her spine from the nape of her neck to her waist.

“Yes, I do think, perhaps,” Vivienne trailed off, before standing and plucking a thick, black velvet belt from a nearby table display. She looped it around Elena’s waist. “Yes. Certainly. You’ll wear a white, fitted jacket and white pumps. Très belle, cherie. Dorian?”

“My darling girl, if I enjoyed the company of women, no other man would have a chance with you, no matter how strapping he might be.”

Elena felt heat rise to her cheeks at the compliments—and Dorian’s insinuation about, well, a certain strapping gentleman she was going to see while wearing this dress. Try as she might--despite the fact that she knew such thinking was dangerous--she couldn’t help but hope it would elicit a similar reaction from him.


	4. Tea Party

Monday came too quickly.

Elena took a sip of her coffee as she gazed up at the black glass office building, where it was nestled between a number of other similar buildings, completely nondescript in the city’s business center. She wondered if any of the neighbors knew what went on just next door, though in truth she didn’t really know what when on at Inquisition either.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the first day and the challenges that it would bring, and pushed the door open. A blast of cold air swirled around her, a blessed relief from the summer heat outside. Elena looked around, unsure where she should be going. She had spent all weekend trying to talk herself up, trying to tell herself that she was an adult, and she wouldn’t let the past get in the way of her future, that working with a man she’d had sex with would not be a death sentence for her career or her sanity.

“Lady Trevelyan,” Cassandra Pentaghast was suddenly at her elbow, something akin to a smile on her grim face. “This way please, I’ll show you to your office.”

Elena jumped; she hadn’t even seen the Nevarran woman enter. She wasn’t sure what unnerved her more–the other woman’s sudden appearance, or her own complete failure of perception. Shaking her head, she followed Cassandra past the security desk and into an elevator.

“Josephine asked me to show you around this morning, afterwards you can get settled in your office. Then, I believe, the Vice Presidents are meeting in the early afternoon.”

Elena nodded, processing everything the other woman was telling her.

The elevator dinged, and they stepped out. Elena found herself trailing after Cassandra through a maze of corridors as they surveyed a few of the more important departments. Research and Design was in the basement—“we won’t go down there now. They’re running tests on  _something_  for Leliana. Best not to disturb them.” Marketing, public relations, and diplomacy all took up the first ten floors the building. They swung by Josephine’s office, but she was out, apparently on a conference call with Orlais. The next five floors were for Leliana’s departments—intelligence, analytics, public opinion—mostly things Elena wasn’t quite sure anyone except for Lady Nightingale was supposed to know about. Cullen’s office was on the twentieth floor, with tactics, security, recruitment, and space for training taking up the floors between.

“The last five floors are reserved for conference rooms, storage, and the mainframe. Your office is up there as well, along with Human Resources,” Cassandra said, motioning her out of the elevator. “Ah, here we are.”

Cassandra led her down a cubical lined hallway to private office suite. The room was paneled in dark wood, with beautiful silk screen printings hung along the walls. A fern dotted one corner, next to a couch. There was a receptionist’s desk in the outer office as well, currently staffed by a handsome, dark haired man about Elena’s age. He stood as they entered.

“Lady Trevelyan, this is Cremisius Aclassi, your assistant,” Cassandra said by way of introduction.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Aclassi,” Elena greeted, shaking his hand.

“Please, Ma’am, call me Krem,” his voice had a hint of accent, similar in a way to Dorian’s; she wondered if he was also from Tevinter.

She smiled, “Krem then, but only if you promise to call me Elena.”

“And this is your office,” Cassandra continued, clearly done with pleasantries, as she opened a dark paneled door.

The inner office was spacious and bright, with the entire far wall was made of windows. A few pieces of furniture dotted the room, the center of which was taken up by a large desk, computer chair, and two arm chairs opposite. Bookshelves and filing cabinets lined the walls, which matched the outer office in design.

“I’ve taken the liberty of having your desk stocked with office supplies, but if you want anything more specific, let me know,” Krem said from the doorway.

“I will leave you to get settled in. Cremisius has your schedule for the afternoon.”

Elena nodded, and thanked Cassandra for her help. She looked around her office, unsure what, exactly, to do with all the space.

“Well, Krem, I don’t think I have anything planned until afternoon, why don’t we get to know each other,” she said with a smile, ushering him into the office proper.

The week passed quickly, busy as she was with her first assignment. Since it had been decided that Elena would accompany everyone to the Conclave in a few weeks, Leliana asked her to compile dossiers on the situation and associated personnel—not only was she to create a full report on Divine Justinia, Chief Seeker Lucius, who was the head of the Templar Order, and Chancellor Fiona, the former president of Magnus University where the student rebellion had sparked, but she was to also write up reports on the events and personnel leading up to the explosion of the Chantry in Kirkwall. It was a fine mess, to be sure, and one Elena was having a difficult time teasing out. Her first week was filled with late nights in the office poring over interrogation transcripts, news reports, and out-dated dossiers. Krem turned out to be incredibly helpful—he was highly organized and adaptable, able to adopt Elena’s less than conventional filing and memory methods. It was his idea to use a corkboard, and she had to admit, the visual web of people and events was more than helpful. As things went, Elena found herself enjoying the work, challenging though it could be at times.

Before she knew it, Saturday had arrived.

~*~

Cullen shifted in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position for his large frame. The seat was low to the ground, and the leather was slippery against his trousers. Blighted thing—these chairs were half the reason he hated going to Josie’s tea parties. Well, that and the fact that he always felt so painfully out of place. Leliana and Josephine knew how to act at these things; knew how to move in aristocratic and cultured circles. He didn’t, and had resigned himself to the fact that he never would.

The conversation ebbed and flowed around him, though Cullen was happy just to sit back and listen. Besides, everyone in the room was simply speaking to fill the time—they were all waiting for Elena to arrive. He picked up his cup and saucer, the delicate porcelain held awkwardly in his large hand, and took a sip.  _Elena_. It was maddening knowing she was just one floor above him, only a ten second ride in the elevator away. But he had kept his distance; as much as Cullen wanted to talk to her—to confront her about why she left and where she’d been and _why in the Maker’s name did you wear my shirt to your interview_ — he also wanted to take her by the shoulders and kiss that alluring, beautiful mouth of hers. As much as he wanted to, he knew the office was not the place for it. So he waited, and stayed away from her unless they absolutely had to be in a meeting together.

But today, today he hoped he could find a moment to slip away after her. Josephine’s house was large enough and old enough that there were places they could go—alcoves and nooks where no one would walk in on them. He shook his head again; perhaps now was not the most opportune time either. But by Andraste if he didn’t speak to her soon, he might just go mad.

Across from him, Josephine checked her watch just as the doorbell chimed through the brightly painted sitting room.  

“Just on time,” the Antivan woman said with a smile.

Standing, she left the room. Cullen glanced around—everyone was chatting quietly among themselves, strewn about on low crouched furniture. Leliana caught his eyes from the davenport to his right.

“It will be a pleasure to see our new assistant again, don’t you think so, Cullen?” She asked.

He paused, regarding his coworker. Did she suspect something already?

“I suppose, though, really—”  _I don’t know what you mean._

His awkward retort died in this throat as Josephine reappeared in the doorway with Elena in tow. He felt his breath whoosh out of his lungs at the sight of her. She was wearing a yellow sundress and a white jacket over it. Her hair was pulled back from her face, though is fell in long waves down her back. The bright colors made her skin glow; she looked like fire, a living, dancing flame. She smiled, and the flame brightened.

Cullen set his cup down for fear of breaking it in his too harsh grip, as he tried to look anywhere but at her.

“Elena, you of course know Leliana, Cullen, and Cassandra. But this is Solas, the head of our Research and Design department, Mr. Blackwall, the head of our recruitment efforts. And Cole, who deals with psychiatric evaluations and referrals under Cassandra in HR. Everyone, this is our new executive assistant, Lady Elena Trevelyan of Ostwick.”

Elena bobbed her head to the room and gave a little wave of her hand, a broad smile on her face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

Josephine ushered Elena to a seat across from Cullen, and she busied herself with pouring tea. Elena smiled prettily as Josephine fussed, eyes traveling over her new acquaintances and coworkers, learning their faces and committing their names to memory, perhaps. Slowly, her bright gaze shifted to him. A swell of heat crashed over him as their eyes met, the air between them suddenly charged and burning. As soon as it began, it was over, her head snapping to intently focus on the Antivan woman before her, a slight tinge of pink rising to her cheeks. He didn’t know if anyone else noticed, but Elena’s hands trembled ever so slightly as she accepted her cup and saucer from Josephine.

“Your dress is lovely,” Leliana chirped from across the room, before turning her attention to him. “Don’t you agree, Commander?”

Cullen swallowed hard and  _tried_  not to drink in the image of Elena’s pale legs and narrow waist, of her delicate collarbones where they settled beneath caresses of lace. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her there, lips half obscured by fabric, half hot against her soft skin. Pushing that thought aside as best he could, he nodded awkwardly.

“Yes, its, um, very nice.”

Elena wasn’t looking at him; instead she seemed to be focused on the wall between him and Leliana. He didn’t blame her, to be sure. Looking at Leliana was more dangerous than looking at him at the moment, keen as the Orlesian lady was.

“Thank you, I recently found it at Madame Vivienne’s.”

“Oh, I do love that store,” Josephine joined. “Do you know Vivienne?”

Blackwall leaned over a small side table towards Cullen, “Let’s let the ladies have her conversations about gowns and shoes. Tell me, Cullen, how do things fare in Ferelden?”

Reluctant as he was to tear his attentions away from Elena, Cullen was glad Blackwall had given him a distraction.

The conversation lulled and crested over the next hour, as different threads picked up or dropped off. Cullen tried his best to act normal, but it was so damn hard with her sitting just across the room from him. Their eyes kept almost meeting—he would feel her looking at him, but by the time he’d turned his head, she was already looking away. It was maddening.

“You have a lovely house,” he heard her say to Josephine as he was trying to listen to Blackwall talk about a new heat seeking missile system being developed by Tevinter. “I wonder though, would you be so kind as to point me to the powder room?”

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she left. He counted the seconds, measuring steps across the wooden floors of the house, until he was quite sure enough time had passed. There would never been a better time than now.

“Excuse me a moment,” he said, standing as all eyes turned to him. “I forgot I need to make a personal call.”

Stalking through the house like a man possessed, Cullen tried to steady his heartbeat. Words and emotions jumbled around in his head, and try as he might, he wasn’t sure he could ever form them into a coherent sentence. He marched up the stairs, knowing exactly to which room Josephine had directed her, and rounded the corner just as she appeared from behind a wooden door. Elena’s eyes widened as she saw him, and he noticed her pulse jump against her throat. He was before her in an instant, hand on her shoulder, pulling her into the nearest room.

“Mr. Rutherford! What—”

“I need to talk to you,” he said, voice gruff.

Much to his annoyance it appeared he had pulled them into a linen closet; shelves stacked with all manner of sheets, blankets, and towels lined the walls, leaving only a small space for them to stand. He tugged on the string to turn the light on, flooding his vision for a moment.

“Where were you?” he demanded, not bothering to use pleasantries–he had pulled her into a linen closet, after all.

She rolled her eyes at him, snapping as if it were perfectly obvious. “I was in the bathroom.”

He glared, her sarcasm unappreciated. Surely she knew what he was talking about. Surely, she felt the tension and heat that sparked between them with every interaction. How could she not? How could their night together not hold meaning for her?

“No, Elena. Where have you been for the last three years? Maker’s breath, you just disappeared, I half thought I dreamt you. And then you just show up  _wearing my shirt_  to work for me.”

She stared at him for a moment in stunned silence. Perhaps she had thought they could just work together without talking things over. _Well, she’s wrong._

After a pause so long he thought she might not dignify him with an answer, she opened her mouth.

“It’s lucky,” she said, abashedly.

“What?”

“You shirt. It’s lucky for me. That’s why I wear it—that’s why I had it on. It’s not like I knew I was interviewing with you. Andraste’s tits, there’s absolutely no information about you on the internet. How was I supposed to know?”

His hands still gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into soft skin. He wanted to shake her, or perhaps pull her to him, crush her against his body and kiss her lips. But he didn’t do any of those things. There were so many things he wanted to ask her–what were they going to do? Did she want to do anything? Why hadn’t she told him she was so blasted young? But none of those came out.

“Why did you leave me without saying goodbye?” He whispered, voice low and as much as he was loath to admit it, tight with hurt.

Her fierce gaze softened as the emotion in his words washed over her. She smiled sadly. Lifting a hand, Elena cupped his face, thumb stroking over his cheek. Cullen leaned into it, eyes closed. Maker he’s missed the feeling of her hands on him.

“I’m sorry, Cullen,” she whispered. “I just  _can’t_ tell you. Someday, maybe. But not now.”

Dropping her hand, she pushed through his arms and then through the door before hurrying down the hall. Cullen watched her go, all his instincts screaming at him to run after her–to capture her and beg her to explain herself. Or perhaps to press her against the wall and wring the truth from her lips and tongue with his own.

Shaking his head, Cullen began the slow descent back to the drawing room. As he took his seat, he noticed Leliana glance between him and Elena, eyes sharp.


	5. Haven

“Remind me again why I said this was a good idea?” Elena groaned, shifting her grip on the heavy corkboard as she and Krem clambered up the stairs.

“Because this wouldn’t fit in the elevator,” Krem grunted.

She groaned, shuffling her feet along the mid-level landing and praying to the Maker that none of their pushpins got knocked loose. They had climbed a total of half a flight of stairs, and they had four and a half to go.

“Maybe… _oomph_ ,” she grunted, as her spine smacked into the handrail. “Maybe we should have just…insisted everyone come to my office.”

Krem glanced behind him, towards the stair door they’d left ajar, “that’s a much better idea, ma’am.”

Corkboard wobbling precariously, Krem and Elena made their way back down the stairs and into her office with about half an hour to spare. Krem left to email Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen that the meeting would be taking place in Elena’s office, and to arrange coffee and snacks while Elena frantically began organizing her notes on the desk before her. It wasn’t that she was ill-prepared—quite the contrary, she had spend the last two weeks doing nothing but prepare for this meeting—it was just that the situation was so damn complicated. Not to mention it was hard reconciling her memories of Kirkwall with the official reports.

There was a knock at the door. Elena jerked her head up just in time to see Krem open the door and usher Cullen in.  _Well, balls. Why does he have to be so punctual?_

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rutherford,” she said with neutral smile. “Please have a seat.”

She could feel his warm golden gaze on her, searching for something past her polite expression. She was remind of the intense, imploring way he had looked at her Saturday past, when he’d tugged her into Josephine’ linen closet. Struggling to stop the flush from rising to her cheeks under his scrutiny, she quickly looked back at her notes.

 “Elena—” he started.

“My apologies for changing our meeting location,” she murmured, shuffling the sheaf of papers in front of her. “Krem and I couldn’t quite get the corkboard up the stairs.”

“Elena—”

“I mean, I suppose we could have borrowed some people, but by the time we got it up there, we would have been late, and…”

“Elena!”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. Whatever conversation he wanted to have, she didn’t  _want_  to—no,  _couldn’t_ —have it. Not now. She had been dutifully avoiding him since Josephine’s tea party. Sweet Andraste, when he pulled her into that linen closet she thought he was going to kiss her.  _That would have been preferable to what actually happened_. She had wanted to answer his question, but just couldn’t. Not if she wanted to continue working here—not if she wanted there to be a chance between them, someday.

They stared at each other across her desk, the sunlight warming his hair and eyes, making them truly golden. Maker, all she wanted to do was grab the collar of his shirt and pull him across the desk. Her eyes fell to his lips, and she once again thought back to their night together—the way those full lips had kissed every part of her body, mapped her skin, and charted her veins. She wondered if they would feel different now, with the scar that ran through them. She surprised the urge to shiver at the thought.

“Please, call me Cullen,” he finally said, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks.

Her mouth hung open slightly, hands gripping her notes hard enough to crumple the paper. Before she could say anything, the door opened again, and Krem ushered in Josephine and Leliana.

“Good afternoon, ladies. Thank you for joining me here on such short notice,” she began.

Elena waited for everyone one to take their seats before she had Krem wheel over the corkboard.

“In preparation for the Conclave, you asked me to compile a number of reports on the situation leading up to the peace accords and the main players,” she paused, handing a stack of neatly labeled folders to each of them. “Here are my full reports, although from what I can gather you all know most of the information in those dossiers already. In short, however, the students at Magnus University in Kirkwall protested against strict, Chantry-imposed sanctions on biological and psychological research. The students claimed that the Chantry was illegally using Templar forces and resources to report and punish research that they didn’t want done—you’ll find a full list on accusations, allegations, and actual research taken place about halfway through the first report. Things came to a head when a young medical student, who is only known by the alias ‘Anders,’ blew up the Chantry embassy in the city,” she paused, and pointed towards the corkboard where she had a picture of Anders with a small white line of twine connecting him a card reading ‘Kirkwall’. “Other universities rose up in support of the students, and Chancellor Fiona, the head of Magnus University after the death of Chancellor Orsino, became the spokesperson for the protests; the supporters have begun calling themselves ‘mages’ in support of Magnus University. Fiona presents a peaceful face to Thedas, but there are more extreme wings of the party which carry out guerrilla attacks on what remains of the Templar Order. By all reports, communication has broken down between Chief Seeker Lucius, who is arguably still in control, and local city precincts. Divine Justinia is holding the peace accords, known as the Conclave, at the Shrine of Sacred Ashes in hopes of restoring order. You’ll find full reports on Fiona, Lucius, and Justinia, as well as Orsino, Meredith, Anders— what little could be found on him, that is—and Marian Hawke, also known as the Champion of Kirkwall, who was, by all accounts, his lover and friend. Smaller reports on others also involved in the situation are included, but they’re not as detailed. Any questions?”

She paused, holding her breath and hoping that she’d been sufficiently thorough.

“It seems you’ve left out information on Knight-Commander Meredith’s second in command,” Leliana said, not looking up from the stack of papers in her lap.

Elena mentally winced—she was hoping they wouldn’t notice that. Imagine her surprise to find that the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall was none other than Cullen himself. She had gotten about two paragraphs into his old personnel file when she’d stopped. It felt wrong to go poking through Cullen’s personal and professional history, and even more dubious to write it up in a report for his co-workers. Especially when she wasn’t willing to divulge her own past to any of them, and certainly not him.

“I assumed Commander Cullen could fill you in on anything you’d want to know himself,” she finally said.

There was a pause in the room, and Elena chanced a look at him. He was staring at her, a look of appreciation on his handsome face. She gave a small nod, and looked away.

“The, ah, corkboard was Krem’s idea, but I found it really helpful for visualizing this mess,” she said, gesturing towards where it rested to her left.

“Well, this was most informative,” Josephine began, hand poised over her notepad in order to write down whatever answer Elena gave to the question she was about to ask. “But what I’d really like to know is do you think the peace accords will work?”

Elena paused, thinking. After a long moment of scrutinizing her web of people and events, she finally spoke. “The potential is there—if all parties truly feel as if they are being listened to, and their problems addressed. But I have heard rumors that neither Chancellor Fiona nor Chief Seeker Lucius are planning on attending—for fear of their safety, apparently. Their absences will be noted, and any progress made has the possibility of being rescinded if one or both find the terms worked out by their agents unacceptable. I would say that the Conclave will be the first of many steps towards peace, rather than the moment of its triumph.”

“Well, I think you’ve done an excellent job of reading the situation,” Leliana replied. “And I’m pleased you’ll be traveling with us.”

The others nodded, and Elena felt a swell of pride. Her first big assignment and she’d managed to please her bosses. She was definitely going to have Dorian uncork a bottle of his Vint-9 in celebration.

“I do have a few other items to bring up, while we’re all together,” Leliana continued. “There are strange reports from the north that I can’t made heads or tails of. Something about ‘the red’. I’m completely unable to figure out to what they’re referring.”

The rest of the group shook their heads, unsure what it could mean either.

“Also,” Josephine continued where Leliana had left off. “The Prince of Starkhaven has attacked Kirkwall. Both he and the chief of police there have asked Inquisition for aid.”

“Sebastian did  _what_!?” Elena exclaimed, looking up from her notes to gawk at Josephine.

“ _Sebastian_? Do you know the Prince of Starkhaven, Lady Trevelyan?” Leliana asked, looking, for once, surprised.

_Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit._

“I, um, knew him. When I was working for my father,” Elena cleared her throat -  _truth enough, anyway._  “So, what do we plan to do? About both situations, that is.”

“I have my researchers looking into this red stuff. I suggest we’ll all pull on what contacts we have to see if we can find anything useful. But be discreet, please,” Leliana answered.

“As for Kirkwall, I knew the chief of police there well—a woman named Aveline. She’s honorable and fair-minded. I suggest we support her against Starkhaven,” Cullen spoke up.

Josephine frowned. “I think we would be better off making an alliance with the Prince—he could do much to carry Inquisition’s influence into the Free Marches.”

“I don’t think attacking a city still struggling from violence is the best way to ingratiate ourselves into the Free Marches,” Cullen countered.

“And I don’t think alienating someone was powerful as the Prince of Starkhaven is a good idea either,” the Antivan woman returned.

“What do you think, Elena?” Leliana suddenly asked. “I see the merit in both courses of action, but you seem to have some insight into this.”

Elena stared wide-eyed at her red-headed boss. She wanted to run away, not answer Leliana’s probing question. It seemed to her that the Orlesian lady was only asking in order to better understand Elena’s mind and relationship—whatever it might be or have been—with Sebastian. Elena got the distinct impression that Leliana did not like being taken by surprise when it came to information.

“I think Cullen is right,” she said after a long pause. “This act of aggression seems strange, out of character even, for Seb—the Prince of Starkhaven, and it seems to me that Inquisition would look better if we defended those besieged, and not the besiegers.”

The meeting wrapped up quickly after that, and Elena couldn’t have wished it a moment sooner. The way Leliana kept looking at her, like she was a puzzle that needed to be solved was unnerving enough, but Cullen was also watching her in such a peculiar way. She couldn’t really put her finger on it, but definitely had to do with her outburst.

Once they were all out of her office, she slumped forward, forehead against the desk, hands pressed to the back of her skull. She took a deep breath, and then another. All things considered, that hadn’t gone  _terribly_. Certainly, it could have been better, but it hadn’t been terrible.

_Now, I just need to get through the Conclave, where half the Chantry will be present and_ not _pleased to see me._

A hesitant knock sounded at the door, causing her straighten up in a fluster. 

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I was just…decompressing,” she paused, looking at him expectantly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Oh, right,” he said, a crooked grin coming to his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say thank you for supporting me today.”

She blinked, trying to process what he was saying, instead of imagine him without his shirt on.

“No problem,” she gave him a hesitant smile. “I think you’re right, and, well, Kirkwall’s been through enough.”

“It certainly has,” he agreed. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow, Cullen.”

Elena couldn’t help but notice that his grin widened as he turned away.

~*~

It was fucking cold in the Frostback Mountains, and no one had bothered to tell her. Well, she had thought it would be, obviously, based on the fact that they were in the middle of the mountains, but Elena really wasn’t prepared for just how cold it was, didn’t really know what  _cold_  meant. She started shivering immediately after stepping out of the company car that had brought her to Haven, the little villages just below the Temple. The valley below was filled with people—aids, soldiers, press, spies too, probably, but the most important people were staying in Haven.

She wrapped her arms around herself and hunched down in her light jacket. Andraste’s ass it was cold—and that wind! It cut straight through her sweater and trousers. Moving aside to let Krem and Solas out of the car, she looked around. Haven was tiny; built on a hill, the different levels of the town were easily distinguished, with the ancient Chantry dominating the landscape.

Cassandra exited from the front seat of their vehicle and waved her over. “We’re meeting in the Chantry to touch base, this way.”

Elena made her way up the icy slope, cursing herself for wearing flats instead of boots. By the time she made it to the Chantry, her feet were numb and her nose was running.  _How attractive._  She followed Cassandra to the back of the building, where she could hear low talking. The room where everyone was congregated was made of rough hewn stone with a large fireplace on the fare wall. She immediately hurried to the flames, ignoring her coworkers for the moment. Her teeth chattered as she held her hands out towards the roaring fire, and she idly noticed that  the base of her fingernails were purple.

“Now that we’re all here,” Josephine called, drawing everyone’s attention towards the large circular table in the room. “Let us begin!”

Reluctantly, Elena moved away from the fireplace, and found herself wedged between Cullen and Solas. It was actually kind of warm, being sandwiched between the two of them. Leliana stepped forward.

“The peace accords begin in two days. Inquisition has been brought here by request of the Divine to help facilitate the negotiations. Cullen will be coordinating security, with help from Blackwall. Josephine will be working closely with Divine Justinia with Cassandra to support her. I will be running intelligence—listening to the chatter among the crowd gathered, and so on. Solas will be aiding me. Elena will be running communication between the three of us. Make sure you have everyone’s number, and keep your phones on you at all times. There have been no reports of anything out of the ordinary, but we don’t want any surprises.”

~*~

Cullen walked just outside the walls of Haven, hands clasped behind his back. He had finished meeting the contingent of troops they’d brought with them for security to go over assignments for the next day. Though he should, no doubt, try to get some sleep, his mind felt restless. He felt as if there was something ever so slightly out of place, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it might be. He paused, staring out at the lake and the mountains beyond. It felt good to be back in Ferelden, if only for a little while.

He hadn’t been home for over a decade. Well, not that he had a home any more. Honnleath had been overrun in the last Blight, his siblings fled to South Reach, and his parents dead. He sighed and kicked the dirt, fighting the feeling of shame that well up inside of him. It would always be one of his biggest regrets that his parents died without knowing where he was or if he was alive.

_I should write to Mia when we’re done with this_.

“Hold up, miss. No one’s allowed into Haven after dark, by orders of Inquisition.”

Cullen turned, curious to see to whom the guard was speaking. Much to his surprise, and perhaps, delight, he saw Elena, digging through her purse.

“I work for Inquisition. I’ve got my badge…where is that thing…I promise I just had it.”

Cullen stared, captivated by the way the moon illuminated her face, much the same way it had that night three years ago, when she’d laid sprawled across his bed, eyes wide and legs spread for him. He shuddered as phantom hands ran over his body in a weak imitation of her sweet touches.

Maker, she was lovely.  _And kind_ , he thought remembering back to their meeting right before the Conclave. She had consciously chosen not to divulge his personal information to his coworkers, nor to snoop through it herself, it seemed. He appreciated that. More than he could really say.

And yet, and yet she was so confusing. She was kind and sweet, and he could see the desire that burned in her eyes every time they were near each other. He had felt her turn her body into his at the meeting early that day, whether she was conscious of her actions or not. It had been so difficult not to loop his arm around her waist and pull her close to him. But he had resisted—she always seemed to push him away whenever he got too close. He didn’t understand it—what had happened in the three years since they met?

Cullen shook his head, making peace with the fact that he might never understand her, that she would always be a puzzle to him. Still, he hadn’t given up hope. Until she told him to stop, to turn his attentions elsewhere, he would do his best to draw her out of her defensive walls. Now that she was back in his life, he didn’t want to let her go again. So he would be gentle, and take things slow.

Cullen stepped forward into pool of light surrounding the gate.

“Look miss, unless you have your badge I can’t let you in,” the guard drawled, seemingly bored with Elena’s plight already.

When the man saw Cullen step out of the shadows, he immediately stood straighter and saluted. “Evening, Commander!”

Cullen nodded, “at ease, soldier, what seems to be the trouble here?”

Elena spun around at the sound of his voice, eyes bright with relief, “Cullen! Thank the Maker! I can’t find my stupid identity badge and he won’t let me in without it—sorry, I know you’re only doing your job, but it’s cold out here!” she hastily added to the guard.

“It’s alright,” he said, turning to the guard as well. “You can let her in.”

“Sir?”

Cullen sighed, “she’s with me. If your superiors give you any trouble, send them my way.”

The guard nodded and scrambled to open the heavy wooden gate for them. Cullen motioned for Elena to go through, his hand brushing the small of her back as she walked by. She shivered, though whether it was from his touch or the wind, he wasn’t sure. Gate securely locked behind them, Cullen looked around; Haven seemed to be quiet at this time of night, most of the temporary occupants already abed.

Elena turned to him, a smile across her lips. “Thank you, really. I can’t imagine what I’ve done with my ID. I’m normally much more careful.”

“I’m sure Cassandra can have another made for you tomorrow,” he said; he could feel his lips tugging into a grin in response to her smile.

Cullen tried to think of something else to say, wanting desperately to prolong the moment. For once she wasn’t running away.

A sharp blast of wind howled through the town, and Elena wrapped her arms around her waist. “Silly isn’t? I didn’t quite understand just how cold it would be here.”

“It’s not silly,” he said, softly. “Have you ever been to Ferelden before?”

She shook her head, “I’ve only ever lived in the Free Marches and Orlais. It’s much warmer there.”

“Here,” he murmured, shrugging off his fur-lined leather coat and handing it to her. “You can requisition a military jacket from our supplies tomorrow, but this should keep you warm for the evening.”

Elena took the heavy coat, her icy fingers brushing against his as she did so.

“I think this is the part where I’m supposed to be polite and try to refuse, but I’m so Maker-damned cold, I’m just going to skip straight to accepting your kind offer,” she said, quickly pulling her arms through the sleeves and wrapping it around her torso.

Cullen chuckled and reached forward to adjust the hood so that it fell more squarely across he shoulders. “It suits you, actually.”

Elena laughed in reply “I doubt that. But thank you, really.”

She nuzzled her face into the fur of the hood, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Cullen withdrew his hand, fingers catching the curve of her cheek as she turned into the collar. She looked up at him as his thumb traced her along her jaw, eyes wide, but not pulling away. He hadn’t meant to touch her, but now that he was, he couldn’t stop. The thin air around them suddenly felt thicker, more difficult to breathe in.

“I, um, I should get to bed. Leliana wants me ready bright and early,” she whispered, looking up at him through the dark fan of her lashes.

“Right,” he murmured, thumb brushing just below the curve of her bottom lip.

Neither of them made a move to leave. Above them, the clouds parted, revealing the bright, full moon. Cullen’s eyes were drawn to her lips, full and slightly parted. He wanted to—he wanted—

He bent his head lower, puffs of his breath mingling with hers. Elena’s eyes slowly slid closed, her head tilting back into his touch.

The snap of a twig ricocheted through the darkness, as one of the night patrols rounded the corner. Elena jumped back from him, eyes snapping open. Before he could say anything, she was halfway down the street, bounding off towards her quarters. Cullen stared after her retreating figure. He was rooted to the spot, fingers flexing open and closed where they once held her face. He shook his head, and tried to quiet the thudding of his heart.

Maker’s Breath, that woman was confusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the info dump-y-ness of this chapter, buuuuut I had to set some stuff up for later :D
> 
> I hope you liked it!


	6. The Temple of Sacred Ashes

There was a sharp knock at the cabin door. Blurry eyed, Elena shambled out of bed and across the small space of her room, wrapping Cullen’s coat tight around her otherwise naked body.  Another loud knock echoed before she was even halfway across the floor.

“I’m coming!”

She pulled the door open, annoyed that someone was being so demanding in the middle of the night. “What could possibly be so urgent— _oh_.”

Cullen stood before her, jaw set in determination. He had a frenzied look in his gold eyes, and it made her shudder when she felt him rake his gaze over her, taking in her pale, naked legs under his coat. Before she could ask him what was wrong, his lips crashed down on hers in a fierce, hard kiss. Capturing her face between his hands, he stepped into the cabin, kicking the door closed behind him. Elena let out a low moan as his tongue slid past her lips, and tangled her fingers in his hair. He spun them, and lifted her up against the door, pinning her between the cold, hard wood and his strong body. She wrapped her legs around his waist, another wanton moan tearing through her when she found him already rock hard.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he panted, pressing hard, bruising kisses down her chin and along her jaw. “I have to have you, or I’ll be driven to madness.”

“Cullen,” she whined, rubbing her aching center against bulge in his trousers. “Fuck me.”

She reached down, tearing at his belt and zipper. A moment later his trousers were around his thighs, his cock free in the cool air. She pumped him, relishing the feeling of his thick member in her hand and the shudder that tore through him. One of his hands squeezed her thigh, holding her up, while the other cupped her sex.

“So wet for me,” he groaned. “Maker, woman. You’re soaking.”

She moaned as he slipped one finger into her, pumping in time with her hand. After a moment, he withdrew, and she pouted at the sudden emptiness.Cullen pushed her hand away from him and grabbed his cock, position the head of his lenght against her entrance. In one fluid movement, he sheathed himself inside of her, and proceeded to pound her up against the door, with hard, fast thrusts. She gripped his shoulders, clinging to him for support as he had his way with her, her mouth falling open in a silent cry of ecstasy. It felt so good to have him inside of her again after three long years of wanting and aching and emptiness; she felt so full and complete. And Maker, he was  _big_. She was going to, she was going–

Elena eye’s shot open and she groaned as her alarm blared through the still dark room. Reaching a hand out from under the covers, she felt around her nightstand for her phone. Her fingers finally wrapped around it, and, sitting up, she fumbled to turn the blasted thing off. Taking a deep breath, her legs shook, the ache between them painfully real and maddeningly urgent.

“Fuck,” she snarled, tossing her phone into the pile of sheets and blankets on her bed.

His scent surrounded her, crashing over her senses and driving any last self control away. She rolled onto her stomach, grinding her hips against the mattress in feeble attempt to alleviate some of the friction. The soft fur lining his coat rubbed against her nipples, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. Pushing two fingers inside of her heat and pumping furiously, she came moments later, sobbing his name.

Elena lay on her bed, breathing heavily, shame and frustration replacing the sweet rush of euphoria. After a long moment of wallowing in self pity, she stood up on shaky legs and looked for her phone.

_Ugh, 4:30 in the morning_. Too Maker-damned early for her tastes, but Leliana had insisted. Sighing, she stood up and wrapped Cullen’s heavy coat more tightly around her, the musky, masculine scent of him enveloping her.

She blushed, thinking back to last night. How he had almost kissed her, lips hovering a hair’s breadth from her own and his finger, gentle against her face. Oh Maker, she had wanted him to close the gap between them, to feel the firm press of his mouth against hers once more.  Elena shook her head and she shrugged off his coat; no, it was best that they had been interrupted. If they hadn’t, she wasn’t sure she would have had the self-restraint to stop herself from pushing him to the ground and riding him until morning.

Folding his jacket neatly, she left in on the table and set about getting ready for the day. She’d have Krem return it to him when he woke; she couldn’t face the Commander this morning, not after last night, and certainly not after her dream this morning. She couldn’t stand to see the hurt, confusion ,and longing that was in his gaze whenever they were around each other. Regardless of how she felt or how much his longing was returned, now was the not the time, and she certainly wasn’t in a position to pursue him.

Elena was ready and knocking on Leliana’s door by 5:30, snug and warm in a new olive-green winter coat from the quartermaster. As she waited, she could hear the sounds of Haven waking up; the hustle and bustle of the mess hall, the sounds of the security troops training just outside the walls, the bark of mabari. A moment later, Leliana opened the door, smiling, and ushered her inside.

“Good morning, I see you found a proper coat,” her tone was light and Elena could almost believe her boss was teasing her.

“Yes, Mr. Rutherford suggested I see the quartermaster for one,” she said as she followed the Orlesian lady into a small sitting room.

Leliana gave her a tight lipped smile before indicating that Elena should be seated at the small table set against the wall.

“I see,” she said, taking a seat opposite. “Anyway, I have a special assignment for you today. I think it will suit your specific skill set quite well, actually.”

She paused and Elena waited for her to continue, anticipation tightening her nerves. What exactly did the head of Inquisition’s intelligence department mean by her specific skill set? Certainly she’d shown herself to be a capable researcher and a critical thinker, but somehow she didn’t think that was quite what Leliana meant.

“The Divine is preparing for the Conclave today up at the Temple. I believe she will be meeting with Fiona and Lucius’ representatives behind closed doors to finalize the rules of negotiations and lay down the procedure for the next few days.”

Elena nodded, she had heard as much yesterday from Josephine. “Go on.”

“I want you to watch her.”Nothing in Leliana’s voice or expression gave away any hint of what she might be implying behind those words.

Elena raised her eyebrow, “you mean you want me to be her bodyguard for the day?”

Leliana shook her head, a coy smile curling over her lips. “No, I want you watch what happens and report anything significant back to me. And it would be best if you weren’t seen. By anyone.”

Elena regarded the Orlesian lady for a moment, trying to read her pleasantly blank expression. Keeping her own expression equally blank, Elena nodded.

“I’ll report back to you after dinner.”

~*~

Getting to the Temple of Sacred Ashes was easier than it looked. The ancient stone edifice was built into the mountains high above Haven, with a winding dirt road between the two. Elena was concerned that she would have to walk up the path, which would take the better part of two hours but patrols of Inquisition guards swarmed everywhere, intermixing with Chantry officials, Templars, and academics. She caught a ride with a convoy of Inquisition guards, who were happy enough to help the Commander’s assistant out.

The hard part was slipping past the Divine’s guards and staying close enough to her to hear what was going on without being noticed. Flood lights had been strung up everywhere, illuminating the ancient, crumbling corridors. Footsteps and voices echoed for miles, it seemed, and Elena found it difficult to anticipate when someone would round the corner. She walked around the large front chamber quickly, hoping to exude an air of purpose. No one bothered her as she slipped into a side corridor, ears straining for a sign of talk. Turning another corner, Elena spied a pair of guards with Chantry insignia emblazoned on their uniforms, rifles crossed over their chests.

Elena slipped back, careful to make sure they didn’t hear or see her.  _Well, now I know where the Divine is_. The problem was, of course, how to overhear what was going on in the room beyond. She crept backwards down the hallway and slipped into an empty store room, locking the door behind her. Pulling out her phone, she plugged her headphones in and swiped through the screens until she found what she was looking for. Hidden in a grouping of apps, she activated the tile of an ear on a long, flesh colored string. Elena positioned herself so that she was facing roughly where the other room lay, and turned up the volume.

Rustling noises crackled through her headphone; that would be the guards shifting on their feet, probably.

_Not the time…selfish…human rights!_

Elena moved a little to the left, trying to pick of the sound waves. She the little record button at the top of the screen just as the conversation crackled to life.

_We must work together to end the suffering of everyone touched by this madness,_ said the Divine, her age-roughened voice familiar enough to recognize.

_We’re perfectly willing to work towards a solution, but returning to the way things were is_ not _a solution. It’s a denial that there was ever a problem in the first place._ And that would be Chancellor Fiona’s representative.

_As far as the Templars are concerned, there_ wasn’t _a problem until your student blew up Kirkwall_.

Elena sighed, and rubbed her forehead. They had their work cut out for them, getting these two to work together, that was for sure. She stood there for what felt like hours, trying to pay attention for anything useful during the squabbling. Suddenly, something caught her attention. There was the sound of a door opening and closing, the crunch of boots on the stone floor—one, two, three pairs—and then the Divine

_Who are you? You’re not authorized to be here._

_Silence_!

The second voice was deep and full of anger. It made Elena’s skin crawl. Something was terribly wrong.

Elena ripped her earbuds out of her ears just as the sound of two gunshots blasted through them.  _This is not good_ , she though, easing open the door to the hallway and carefully looking to see if anyone was around. She hesitated; the reasonable part of her brain screamed at her to notify Leliana or Cullen about the situation, but the practical part argued that there was no time. 

“Someone, help me!” The Divine’s voice echoed down the hallway.

Decision made, Elena hurried towards the sound, pressing herself against the wall when she reached the door to the room she had just been listening in to. Leaning around the corner of the doorway, she glanced in, trying to take stock of the situation.

The two door guards stood behind a tall man in a leather trench coat, whose back was to the door. On the floor lay Fiona and Lucius’ representatives in a pool of blood and brains. Divine Justinia stood with her hands held before as if to ward them off.

“Apologizes, your Worship, but stopping this war would be very bad for my business, and I cannot let that happen,” the mysterious man said, his voice matching the one that had called for silence through her headphones moments ago.

“Stop!” She called, stepping into the doorway.

The man whirled around, a snarl twisting on his lips. Elena shrunk back, horror flooding through her at the state of his face. The left side was a ruined mass of flesh and smooth, scarred over skin. His eyes blazed with fury.

“And just who are you?” He demanded, taking a menacing step towards her.

Elena gulped; she didn’t really have a plan, she just knew she couldn’t stand by and watch the Divine be assassinated. He regarded her for a moment, and then smiled. 

“I was going to give this little gift to Justinia,” he continued, pulling something out the pocket of his coat. “But since you’re here…”

Her eyes widened as she realized what he was holding.  _Shit!_  Pulling the pin out, he tossed the grenade at her. Reflexes kicking in, Elena caught it and threw it as hard as she could down the hallway. A flash of light exploded followed by a thunderous sound. Shrapnel ricocheted through the air, landing feet away from her and skidding down the stone floor. When she turned back to the room, the man was gone, disappeared into thin air. One guard stood with his gun pointed at the Divine, and the other took a step towards her. Before any of them could react, the world was enveloped in white, a tidal wave of sound and force slamming through them as the temple collapsed on their heads.

~*~

Cullen stood outside the walls of Haven where he had set up his temporary office, looking over reports of troop movements in the Fallow Mire. A cold mountain wind blew steadily against him, but he huddled down in his coat. It smelled like her, warm and clean and feminine, after only one night. It was patently unfair that she kept wearing his clothes while he never got to enjoy the show. Cullen sighed, and tried to push the thought of Elena in his clothes out of his head—he needed to concentrate.

Out of the corner of his eye he was a runner dashing towards him, a frantic look on her face.

“Commander!” she saluted, coming to a stop before him. “Ms. Nightingale sent me. There’s word of gunfire at the Temple!”

Cullen dropped the report he was holding, and opened his mouth to reply. Before he could a blast tore through the air, followed by a fine rain of rubble from above.

“Maferath’s balls!” he swore, taking off at a sprint towards the Chantry, where Josephine and Leliana were surely gathered.

People came running into the street, panic high in their voices as they looked to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He could hear voices calling to him, but Cullen pressed on. Finally he reached the Chantry, meeting Leliana and Josephine at the threshold. 

“What the hell was that?” Cullen called, running up to them.

“It sounded like an explosion at the Temple,” Josephine yelled back. “Oh! Divine Justinia was up there!”

“Who could have done this?” He demanded, turning towards Leliana.

She shook her head, “there’s too many to know for sure, but we need to send search and rescue immediately. Commander?” 

Cullen nodded. “I’ll get Blackwall and take the chopper. Josephine, try to keep things sane down here. And make ready for an influx of injured personnel. Leliana, organize your people to do ground search and rescue once I’ve surveyed the area,” he paused, trying to think of anything else that needed to be done. “Where’s Elena?”

Leliana’s eyes widened. “Shit! I sent her to the Temple on an assignment for me.”

“What?!” he roared, the realization that Elena might have been caught in the gunfire slamming into him. 

Cullen spun around, searching the mountain top frantically.  _Elena. No_.

~*~

Elena groaned as she became more and more aware of the pain lacing through her body. The ringing in her ears was deafening, drowning out anything else that might be around her. Slowly, she peeled her eyes open, tears prickling at the dust that fell into them. Debris covered her body, coating her in a fine layer of ash and dust; a large stone pinned her left arm down, warm sticky blood pooled around her. As the ringing subsided to a manageable level, she could hear another person groaning. Gritting her teeth, Elena rolled the stone off of her arm. She tried to stand, but her legs shook and the world spun around her as blood throbbed at the back of her head.

“I’m coming,” she panted to whoever was whimpering a few feet from her.

Rolling onto her belly, she dragged herself over piles of rubble with her good arm, glass and stone shredding her trousers and biting into her legs and stomach. She could see the body of one of the guards—or part of him anyway—laying to her right. The smell of burnt flesh was thick in the air; she couldn’t see any sign of the other guard. 

“Someone, help me,” the voice groaned again, weaker.

A few more feet and Divine Justinia came into Elena’s field of vision. She was pinned under a large wooden beam, a pool of blood spreading beneath her.

“Shit,” Elena swore, pulling herself close enough to grasp the old woman’s hand. “Oh shit. It’s okay. I’m here. They’re going to send people to look for us—for you, I’m sure.”

Justinia turned to her, a sad but resigned smile on her lips. “They may come for you, but I’m going to the Maker now.”

Arm shaking, the older woman fumbled with something around her neck.

“Here,” she whispered, voice growing fainter by the moment. “Take this. They must not…have it.”

With a soft sigh, Justinia’s arm dropped to the ground. Elena could feel the world around her spinning with each throb of her veins. A trail of bright red blood followed her path across the room, stark against the grey stone and rubble. She lay her head down on the ground, clutching her hand to her chest. Elena looked down, wondering what was so important that the Most Holy’s last act was to charge her with it’s safe keeping.

A green metal square rested in her hand, the golden microchips pressed to one end the only indication of what it was.  _What the…?_

Her eyes grew heavy as the ringing in her ears cresting to a roar. Rolling onto her back, Elena looked up at the bright blue sky, her eyes tracing a black splotch as it moved closer and closer. She let out a soft breath, her eyes finally sliding closed as the world around her went black.


	7. Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the rather short length, but I wanted to get something up, and well, suspense won over more scenes. :)

Slowly, Elena became aware of a dull throb in her upper arm, accompanied by an overall ache stretching from her toes to her hairline. She groaned and turned her head. Muffled sounds cut through the ringing in her ears. Voices. Maybe familiar. She blinked.

She was in a small, neat room. The wooden walls were adorned with a single pastoral painting. Next to her bed were a number of calmly beeping machines and an IV tree. There was also a tray table pushed against the far wall next to a chair. Slowly she sat up, blinking against the bright sunlight pouring in through the window. Someone had bandaged her arm into a sling, and there were a number of tubes and wires attached all over her body. The muffled shouting continued.

Slowly, placing both feet on the ground first, Elena stood, leaning on her IV stand. Making her way across the room, she opened the door just in time to see Dorian smack a clipboard right out of Cassandra’s hands, sending papers fluttering to the floor.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your list, I need to see her!” Dorian snapped.

Cassandra’s nostrils flared. “That was a gift from Lady Montilyet!”

“Dorian, what the hell are you doing here?” Elena asked, a weak grin on her face at his antics; they both turned to look at her as she spoke.

Instead of answering, Dorian pushed pasted Cassandra and enveloped Elena in a tight hug, mindful of the sling. Gingerly, she wrapped her good arm around him, relief washing over her. She hadn’t realized how much she needed her best friend until right at that moment.

“Thank the Maker,” he whispered.

Dorian held her at arm’s length, warm chocolate eyes inspecting her from head to toe.

“Lady Trevelyan, you know this man?” Cassandra asked, eyes narrowed at their display.

Elena grinned, “It’s quite alright, Cassandra, he’s my cousin and he should be my emergency contact on all my HR forms as well.”

“I see, my apologies,” she murmured crouching down to pick up her papers.

“Dorian, help her,” Elena hissed, giving him her best insistent glare.

Dorian rolled his eyes, but did so, a flush spreading against his cheeks, mostly likely in embarrassment for his outburst.

“I’ll just leave you two, then.” Cassandra muttered, before stalking down the hallway.

Dorian helped Elena back into her room and onto the bed before he pulled the chair over to sit at her side.

“The explosion was all over the news. Imagine my panic when you wouldn’t pick up your phone,” he started, tone playfully scolding. “They kept playing this loop of film of a man lifting a red-headed woman into a helicopter with the word ‘Inquisition searches for survivors amid the rubble’ flashing along the bottom. I wasn’t going to wait around for some secretive type to knock on my door…I drove up here. Got here this morning actually. It’s complete madness in the valley below.”

Elena nodded, eyes wide. After a moment she reached across her bed and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you came.”

Dorian squeezed her hand back. “I couldn’t very well leave my best girl. Now, what happened in there?”

She paused, the events of the Temple flashing through her mind: the traitorous guards, the strange man in the trench coat, the death of the Divine, so many things that didn’t make sense, didn’t add up.

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to tell you,” she said with a pensive frown.

Dorian sighed, “fair enough. I’m just glad you’re alright. Well, relatively speaking. You could definitely use a shower.”

Elena smacked his arm playfully. “A  two thousand year old temple just collapsed on my head, give me a break!”

Before Dorian could tease her any more, there was a knock at the door. She called for them to come in, a moment later a man in a white coat appeared.

“Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Richards, I’m very glad to see you awake and alert.”

After making sure she was okay with Dorian staying for their conversation, Dr. Richards check over her vitals and caught her up to speed on her injuries and prognosis.

“Overall, I think you’ll be fine. I want to keep an eye on that arm, just to make sure it heals correctly, but otherwise I’m not too worried,” he said with a smile.

“Tell that to my tinnitus,” she joked.

Dr. Richards laughed and bid her good day. Elena nodded as he left.

Once the door was closed, Dorian looked as if he wanted to say something, but before he could another knock sounded.

“Come in,” Elena called, thinking it was the doctor again.

Instead, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine appeared, eyes flicking between Elena and the mysterious gentleman holding her hand at her bedside.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Leliana said, a bemused expression on her face. “But now that you’re awake we thought it best to get your recollection of events.”

“Oh, right,” Elena paused, unsure if she should make introductions before Dorian left.  _Fuck it._ “Everyone, this is my cousin and roommate, Dorian Pavus. Dorian, these are the Vice Presidents of Inquisition Consulting, Leliana Nightengale, Josephine Montilyet, and Cullen Rutherford.”

“I  _see_ ,” Dorian said, grinning as he stood. “A pleasure to meet you all. I’ll leave my dear cousin in your most capable hands.”

With a wink in Elena’s direction, he left the room, closing the door behind him. The way he had looked over Cullen as he left had not escaped her notice, and she knew he’d have a thing or two to say to her later.

Elena sat up a little straighter, and folded her legs to make room.

“You can sit on the bed,” she said to none of them in particular. “We seemed to have a shortage of chairs.”

Josephine sat gracefully at the foot of the bed, while Cullen took the chair Dorian had just vacated. Leliana, it seemed, preferred to stand. The air in the room seemed thicker, heavier now that Dorian was gone. For the first time Elena wondered if she might not be in trouble.

“Before we discuss anything else, how are you feeling? You gave us quite a scare when Cullen lifted you from the rubble,” Josephine murmured, placing a hand on Elena’s forearm.

Elena glanced at Cullen, who was looking at her in earnest. Was it a helicopter she had seen hovering over right before she passed out? Had he been the one to reuse her from the Temple? Dorian had said the media was showing a video of a man airlifting her from the scene. The thought sent a strange tightness to her stomach.

She licked her lips, tongue running over the dry skin, as she ascertained the answer to their question.

“I suppose I’m alright,” she wiggled her shoulder. “A broken arm isn’t fun, but I’ve had worse.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, Leliana already informed us that she sent you up to the Temple to deliver a message to the Divine, but can you tell us anything else you might remember?” Josephine prompted softly.

Elena glanced at Leliana where she stood with her back to them gazing out the window. She had lied to her colleagues about why she’d sent Elena up to the Temple and Elena wasn’t sure whether she should be relieved or worried. Taking a deep breath, she related the tale as well as she remembered it.

“He just disappeared?” Cullen interjected when she explained how the man with the scarred faced seemed to vanish into thin air.

She nodded. “I know it sounds mad, but it’s honestly how it appeared. I threw the grenade down the hallway and when I looked back, he was gone.”

“There could have been a secret passage,” Leliana reasoned. “Although, it would be impossible to prove at this point. Would you be able to describe his face to a sketch artist?”

“Yes, it wasn’t I face I’ll soon forget,” Elena nodded. “Anyway, then the Temple blew up; maybe the other survivors saw something more—how it got in or out, maybe. If there was anyone else working with him besides the two guards with the Divine.”

There was a long pause and a Elena looked up, disquiet settling around her. No one would meet her gaze. After a moment, Cullen shifted forward, his hand covering hers gently.

“Elena, you’re the only one who survived.”

She stared back at him, her hand tightening involuntarily around his. His gaze was warm, fill with compassion and, it seemed, relief despite everything.

“That can’t be possible,” she said, voice horse.

“Is there anything else you can think of, anything that might be important?” Josephine asked gently. “Leliana has already surveyed what security footage and audio that could be recovered, so we’re not completely blind, but anything you could tell us would be helpful.”

Elena wondered if Leliana had already included the audio she had recorded of the Divine’s conversation with Lucius and Fiona’s representatives. Had Leliana lied to Cullen and Josephine about where that audio had come from as well?

Absently, she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear with shaky fingers as she thought. “Um, there was…I mean the Divine gave me, well I’m not really sure what. Did I have anything on me when you…when I was found?”

Leliana stepped forward, pulling a manila envelope from her purse. She emptied it out onto the bed between Elena and Josephine. “This is all everything you had on you.”

Reluctantly, Elena disentangled her fingers from Cullen’s to pick through the things on her bed. Among the contents were her phone, earbuds, and the green bit of metal the Divine had given her.

She held it up, turning it over in her hand; it was a flashdrive.

“The Divine, she gave this to me right before she died. She said it was important that ‘they’ must not have it. I don’t know who she was talking about though.”

“May I?” Leliana asked, reaching forward.

Elena nodded, handing over the flashdrive.

“Curious. Well, I’ll see if I can’t get Solas to run some analysis on it,” Leliana paused for a moment, surveying Elena where she sat. “Perhaps we should let you get some rest.”

The others nodded, and Elena lay back against the pillows as they shuffled out. Cullen held the door open for his coworkers, one hand in his pocket. He glanced back at her before he left, a drawn smile on his face.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, relatively speaking, that is. You had me—you had us worried.”

She felt a flutter in her stomach at his words.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she smiled. “For finding me, too. I might still be up there, if it wasn’t for you.”

He grinned sheepishly, a blush creeping up his neck. “I, ah, I should go. Let you rest.”

She nodded as he left, passing Dorian on his way in. The two men eyed each other as they passed. Dorian raised his eyebrows when the door clicked shut, making his way back to bedside.

“Princess, that man has it bad for you.”

Elena blushed and looked down at her hands. “Yeah, well. I can’t really do anything about it. If he had any idea who I was…what I’ve done…”

She shook her head, ignoring Dorian’s pitying look. “Impossible.”


	8. Rainstorm

They planned to stay in Haven for the better part of two weeks. Cullen had his people searching the rubble for survivors and keeping order in the valley below the little town, while Josephine saw to it that they all had food, shelter, water, and medical attention. With most of the Chantry’s bureaucracy dead, it was left entirely to Inquisition to see to that people were taken care of and evacuated. As much as she wanted to help, her bosses were strict in their insistence that Elena stay in her bed, recovering. Sometimes, she wondered if part of their concern wasn’t more to do with the fact that as the only survivor of the explosion she was generating a lot of media attention. It was so much that she had been moved out of the clinic into her old cabin and Cullen had resorted to posting guards outside her door, and had more patrolling around the nearby streets. Try as Josephine might to staunch the reports, it seemed Elena couldn’t turn on the news without seeing speculation about mysterious “Herald of Andraste,” or “ the woman pulled from the rubble of the Temple and protected by the Maker’s Mercy.” Personally, she thought if the Maker had really been looking over them that day, the Temple wouldn’t have exploded in the first place.

After the first week of bed rest, Elena was feeling much better, although slightly stir-crazy at being cooped up all day. The only thing that was still really a problem was her arm—Dr. Richards had said it would take three to six weeks to heal, and moving around in a sling was unwieldy and awkward. After her ninth full days of doing nothing but sitting in bed and playing Wicked Grace with Dorian, she was about to go mad.

Which was why she was currently standing outside Leliana’s door, hand ready to knock. The door opened before she could do so though, revealing a somewhat bemused Leliana.

“You should be in bed,” she scolded, but stepped aside to let her through.

It had been easy enough to sneak out of the cabin where her makeshift hospital room had been set up. She had made her way around the edges of the village, careful to not be seen by the patrols and runners walking through the streets.

Elena scowled and stepped inside. “There’s only so much daytime TV I can watch before I go crazy. Give me something to do, please.”

Leliana closed the door. “There’s really not much to do at the moment. We’re making ready to go back to Val Royeaux in a day or two; you can’t really help with packing.”

Elena frowned. “Did you listen to the audio I managed to save from the Temple?”

“Yes, I’ve run our mysterious burned man’s voice through a number of recognition programs, but so far nothing’s come up. Are you sure he wasn’t masking his voice?”

Elena shook her head, “If he was, I couldn’t see anything on him. When he spoke to me in the hallway he sounded the same as through the headphones.”

Leliana nodded, “I thought as much. You know, that’s quite a sophisticated program you have on your phone. Do you know who happened to develop it?”

_Where did you get it_ , really was what she was asking.

Elena paused choosing her answer carefully. She was already quite certain Leliana knew more that she would like anyone at Inquisition to know.

“My father invests in a number of different development projects and software companies. He often had me test their products.”

Leliana raised her eyebrows, but accepted Elena’s answer. Though, certainly, they both knew that it didn’t really explain why she  _still_  had such an application on her phone or when she would have had an opportunity to use such a thing while working for her father.

“I suppose you could help me go through some of the crime databases? I need to go through the dossiers on the few people that would have the resources and gall to do this.”

Elena nodded, and took a seat at Leliana’s makeshift desk. There was a stack of manila folders piled as high as her hip precariously leaning against the wall. She grabbed the top one, and began to read. They worked quietly throughout the day, Leliana on her laptop and Elena with pen and paper. It was slow going, but it felt good to do something instead of just sitting around. By the time night had fallen, they were no closer to finding their man, though they had eliminated a number of possibilities.

“Well, I should probably get back to my room before Dorian realizes I’m gone,” Elena said reluctantly as she stood.

The other woman nodded. “Thank you for your help. I believe we’re scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow, but we should continue this when we get back to Val Royeaux.”

Nodding in agreement, Elena left, skirting around the edges of Haven back to her cabin. Carefully, she climbed through her bedroom window.

Dorian was already stretched out on her bed, watching Jeopardy by the time Elena returned. In order to make himself useful during the day—and to get out of her hair, Dorian had been helping Josephine organize the people still trying to leave the Haven.

“I thought your window climbing days were over,” he teased, not sounding particularly worried about where she’d been. “Sneaking off to steal kisses behind the Chantry from that strapping boss of yours?”

“No!” she snapped, irked by the way her stomach fluttered at the thought.  _I wish_. “I was helping Leliana go through some files.”

“Ah, not done with your window climbing days, then.”

Elena pointedly ignored his remark, and settled in next to him, pulling her dinner tray over. She cast him a baleful gland when she noticed Dorian had eaten her pudding cup.

“I have good news,” he drawled. “Your R&D man, Solas, has offered me a job.”

“Oh Dorian! That’s wonderful!” Elena cheered, throwing her good arm around him in a side hug. “Now you can drive me to work every day!” She winked at him. “But seriously, what’s the position?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked, seeing as I was going to tell you anyway. You mentioned that the man who blew up the Temple disappeared into thin air, yes?—Don’t give me that look, of course I was listening in on your meeting. Well, I just happened to mention that I have a Ph.D. in theoretical physics from Vyrantium University, and Solas offered me a position in the lab.”

Elena shook her head, a smile on her face. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, darling.”

~*~

The ride back to the city was uneventful. Inquisition left a small team of people behind headed by Krem to help out with any stragglers still in the valley, but most people had found their way home and the little village was deserted once again. By the time she and Dorian pulled up to their building, the sun had set and the streetlights were on. People walked along the sidewalks, hurrying off to home or dinner or friend’s houses. Across the street a black car idled under a flickering streetlight. Elena just managed to kick off her shoes before collapsing into her bed, relief at being home washing over her. Work was going to be absolutely mad, she was sure, but at least tonight she could rest up.

The next morning came too quickly, of course, and all too soon she found herself back at in the office.

“The explosion of the Temple cost us a great deal in terms of resources, men, and finances,” Josephine began. “We should get in contact with our financial advisor and see what can be done to recoup our losses.”

The four of them sat at their conference table, notes and computers strewn about as they tried to come to terms with the repercussions of Haven. Elena was there to take minutes and offer her opinion if asked, but mostly she just listened to the back and forth between her three bosses.

“And we have the issue of Starkhaven and Kirkwall to be dealt with. I sent people to aid Captain Vallen, but the situation is still dire,” Cullen remarked.

_Maybe if Sebastian would stop being such a dick_ , Elena though, chewing the end of her pen.  _Not that it’s any of my business, anymore._

“Yes, that is troubling,” Josephine conceded. “Prince Sebastian has ignored all of our overtures once it became apparent we would not help him.” The Antivan woman paused and glanced over at Elena. “You said you knew the Prince of Starkhaven; would there be any merit in sending you as our envoy?”

Elena froze, panic gripping her chest at the thought of having to meet Sebastian again. Pupils blown wide, she carefully placed her hands in her lap under the table so no one could see how badly they shook.  _Tread carefully; you’re on rotten ice_ , she told herself.

“I don’t think that would be particularly fruitful,” she began, trying to formulate her words without giving too much away. “We weren’t especially close.”  _Lies—too sloppy, they’ll know it’s not true_. “Perhaps make him see the error of his ways; the Chantry has been crippled by the death of the Divine, but if I recall, he’s particularly devout. Inform him that he’s perpetrating war crimes in Kirkwall—initiating a war of aggression is foundation enough for the charge—threaten him with excommunication once a new Divine is chosen.”

Elena kept her gaze on her legal pad as she spoke. She was afraid for them to see what might be lurking in her eyes as she spoke of Sebastian; afraid to see how they were looking at her.

“That could work,” Leliana spoke up. “Although we’ll have to make some overtures of friendship with the remaining Grand Clerics if our threat is to hold any weight. Josephine, can you have your people draw up a list of which Clerics we might approach?”

Elena felt the tension leak out of her shoulders as they moved on to a different topic. After a moment she chanced glancing up; Josephine and Leliana were busy discussing their plans and rifling through the mountain of paperwork strew about the table, but Cullen was watching her, his warm golden gaze uncertain as he tried to read her face. She quickly looked away.

The meeting wound down soon enough as the sun set behind the glass walls of the conference room. Elena hurriedly gathered up her things and pushed through the door, still somewhat shaken. She was getting sloppy about things—she needed to be more careful, especially with Leliana in the room. And Cullen.

_Cullen_ , she sighed. Maker what must he think of her? She thought back to their meeting in Haven after the Temple exploded. He had held her hand, in front of both Josephine and Leliana. The warm gentle pressure of his fingers wrapped around hers had been comforting, sweet even. When he told her that she had been the only one to survive the explosion, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in his lap and cry while he held her. She let out another heavy sigh. Maker’s blood, this was more than sexual attraction.

“Elena!”

_Speak of the Devil…_ Elena turned around as she neared the elevator bank, a bright smile fixed on her face. Cullen was dashing down the hallway, clearly trying to catch her. The elevator dinged open behind her just as he arrived, and he ushered her in, his hand brushing lightly over the small of her back.

“Is there something you needed?” she asked after a moment of silence.

“I, um, just wanted to see if you were okay,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You seemed a little upset in the meeting.”

_Maker take you, Cullen, why do you have to be so damn perfect?_  He’d been quietly attentive to her since their almost kiss that first night in Haven. Posting extra guards to keep reporters at bay, asking for updates on her arm, and now this—how was he so adept at reading her moods? She didn’t think she was especially easy to read by her expressions and posture; in fact, she had spent the better part of her life working on controlling such things. As individual gestures, his interest was nothing more than a boss showing concern for his employee, but together, it seemed that he was quietly but firmly telling her he hadn’t given up on…on whatever it was they were doing.

And all she could give him in return was half-truths and worse. What a fine mess.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she paused, trying to think of something that didn’t sound suspicious. “My arm was just getting sore.”

“Oh, right,” he gave her a lopsided grin. “When does it get taken off? Your cast, I mean.”

“Dr. Richards said another week, and it might be ready. I guess I’m a fast healer.”

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the lobby and Elena stepped out. Though she walked quickly across the marble floor, her heels clacking with each footfall, Cullen stayed next to her, his long strides easily matching her hurried ones. She spied Dorian near the doors, waiting for her so they could head home. Through the wall to ceiling windows the street bustled with rush hour activity—people going to their cars or the metro, a number of black taxis idling across the street to take more people away from the business district. When Dorian saw Cullen at her side, his face broke out into a smirk.

“Do you want to go get coffee with me?”

Elena paused mid-step, head jerking away from her roommate to look at the man next to her, completely thrown off guard by his sudden invitation. She looked up at him, mind racing for a way to gently let him down, but the moment she met his warm gaze, saw the hopeful look on his oh so handsome face, her resolve crumbled. She was so tired of trying to push him away, of ignoring the fluttering of her heart every time he was near her. The way he looked at her sometimes, the way he was looking at her now, really—it was hard describe, similar in some ways to the way people look at statues of Andraste.

Like he was looking at salvation.

“Okay, sure,” she heard herself say. “Let me just tell Dorian to head home without me.”

Cullen nodded, his broad smile shining brightly through his eyes. Elena felt a flush spread across her cheeks as she hurried over to Dorian, conscious of Cullen watching her as she went.

“I’m, ah, going to get coffee with Cullen. Don’t worry about waiting for me.”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow and smiled smugly. “Alright princess, as long as you promise to give me all the juicy details when you get home.”

“ _Dorian_ ,” she snapped, glaring at him as he walked away with a fashionable roll of his hips.  _Ass_.

“There’s a nice place just around the corner, if you don’t mind walking,” Cullen said, suddenly appearing at her side.

~*~

Cullen couldn’t believe his luck as he slid into a secluded booth, Elena taking the seat opposite him. He had been fully prepared for her to turn down his impromptu offer, but instead here they were after a short, silent walk down the street. He tried to steady his heartbeat as he smiled across the table at her. Maker was he ever thankful to see her alive and sitting across from him. When he’d found her amidst the rubble of the Temple—unconscious, covered in blood and dirt as he scrambled with fumbling fingers to find a trace of her heartbeat—he’d been so frightened. He’d carried her from the helicopter to the make-shift hospital himself. And here she was, glowing in the low light of the café, cheeks flushed and hair blazing like the sun around her. Maker’s breath she was lovely.

She smiled up at him, a polite, cautious smile; she still had her guard up from the meeting earlier. Cullen couldn’t exactly place when she’d become troubled, though he was certain it wasn’t just her arm that was bothering her.

A waitress approached, placing their drink orders on the table between them. “I’ll be right back with your food.”

Cullen nodded at the woman, thanking her. Elena watched her go, eyebrow raised. He didn’t have the courage to ask what  _that_  look was about. After a moment, she took a sip of her drink—some sort of sweetened, chocolately confection—a dollop of whipped cream sticking to the corner of her mouth as she set the mug down. Without thinking, Cullen reached across the table.

“You’ve got something there,” he chuckled, capturing her chin between his thumb and forefinger and catching up the offending substance up with the pad of his thumb.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, eyes wide in surprise.

Pink swept prettily over her cheeks at the contact, but she didn’t move away from his touch. Before he could say something, the waitress returned, putting two small plates down in front of them. Cullen quickly returned his hand to his side of the table.

“Sorry.”

“It’s, ah, it’s okay,” she said, eyes downcast, not meeting his; there was silence for a moment, before she suddenly saw her pain au chocolat. “Here, try this.”

She picked up the flaky, chocolate pastry she’d ordered and offered it out to him. Cullen leaned forward and took a bite, careful to avoid her fingers.

“It’s very good,” he agreed, settling back in his seat.

She smiled, “I used to eat these by the platter when I spent the summers with my grandmother at her estate in the Emerald Graves. I’m pretty sure the cook only made them because she knew how much I loved them; Grand-Maman can’t abide sweets.”

“You’re half Orlesian, then?” he asked.

She laughed, her smile widening into something less cautious. “Of course you would ask that,  _Ferelden_. Yes, my mother was Orlesian.”

“Was?” The question was out of his mouth before he realized it was a bad idea.

Elena’s face fell a little, her eyes losing the sparkle that they held just moments ago. “She died when I was seven. Complications with childbirth.”

Cullen felt like a fool—why in the name of the Maker had he managed to bring up probably one of her most painful memories? Cautiously, he reached across the table and covered her delicate hand with his larger one.

“I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have…my apologies, Elena,” he said, struggling to find the right words to express how sorry he was—both that she had to live through such a thing and that he had brought it up.

She shook her head, gaze trained down at their joined hands. It was the second time in as many week that she’d let him hold her hand. Gently, she brushed the pad of her thumb over his knuckles.

“It’s alright; you couldn’t have known,” she murmured, offering him a soft smile.

Cullen returned her smile and cleared his throat trying to think of something else to say. “So how long have you and Dorian been living together?”

_Really smooth, Rutherford. First you bring up her dead mum and now you sound jealous over her cousin_.

“Oh,” she paused, setting her mug down awkwardly with the hand that was still in a sling. “For about a year, year and a half. We were really close when we were kids—his mother is my father’s older sister, so we had a lot of holiday time together,” the bright smile on her face fell a bit. “But then he went off to Uni and I didn’t really see him anymore. That is, until we ran into each other here in the city. Do you have any siblings?”

Cullen smiled; she was so good at that—switching the focus of conversation away from herself. Usually she only gave just enough information to make whoever she was talking to feel like she’d answered their question without actually saying anything. It felt nice that she was letting him get to her know her, even if they were talking more about Dorian than her.

“Yes, I’ve got two sisters and a brother. Mia is older than me, but Rosie and Brason are both younger.”

“I’ve got two older brothers—twins—Henry and William,” she offered in return. 

They spent the better part of two hours talking, quietly moving from topic to topic. He loved watching the way her face would light up when she was talking about something she was passionate about. She gestured wildly as she spoke, animated and vivacious. After finishing her third mug of coffee, Elena’s phone chirped.

“Dorian,” she said by way of apology as she quickly checked the screen. “Sweet Andraste, is it really almost 8:30?”

Reluctantly, Cullen checked his watch, “I hadn’t realized. We should probably head home.”

After paying the bill—Elena had fervently argued to pay her half, but he insisted—they made their way out of the cafe and right into an evening rainstorm.

“My car’s parked just behind Inquisition, I’ll give you a lift home,” he offered, voice slightly raised over the sound of thunder and rain.

Elena nodded, already nearly soaking wet, and motioned him forward with a wave of her arm “lead the way, Commander!”

They took off running through the streets; she kept up with him surprisingly well, considering the heels she wore. They reached the crosswalk and Cullen spied his red Subaru across the street. The light was about to change, but he’d rather run for it than wait in the rain. Without thinking, he reached down and laced his fingers with Elena’s, pulling her with him as he sprinted across the road. A bus zoomed by them, and Elena squeezed his hand tight, half laughing half shrieking. Cullen reached his car, and spun, pulling her close. She crashed into his chest, breathless and cheeks flushed. They were both completely drenched and suddenly neither of them cared. The breath froze in his lungs as he looked down at her, nestled close in his arms. Surely he would never have such an opportunity again. 

Slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, Cullen smoothed the wet strands of hair plastered to her face back, his fingers curling around the shell of her ear. She looked up at him, and he could feel her chest heaving against his own, could feel her heartbeat hammering against his ribcage like it was inside of him. He bent his head, watching through a lidded gaze as her eyes slid closed.

Their first kiss was soft, little more than a gentle brush of lips over lips. He tasted her warm breath and soft sighs as pressed his mouth to hers again, wanting more, always more. Their second kiss was firmer, deeper and by the third kiss she had wrapped her good arm around his neck, her fingers tangling in his rapidly curling hair. He had forgotten so much—the particular pressure of her lips on his, the salty sweet taste of her mouth, the way she curled into him with her entire being. He stroked his tongue over her lower lip and she parted her mouth willingly. 

A car horn honked right behind them, making Elena jump and break their embrace. She looked up at him, a smile on her kiss swollen lips, and her eyes sparkled brightly as rain ran in rivulets down her face, smudging her eye makeup. Cullen grinned; she had never looked so beautiful. He felt light,  _weightless_. Surely this was a dream.

“Let’s get you home, before you catch your death,” he murmured, rubbing his hands against her shoulders before he stepped away to unlock her door.

~*~

The ride to her apartment passed in companionable silence, save for the mellow sounds of the radio. She held his hand as they drove, teeth worrying over her lower lip. He’d  _kissed_  her, and she had kissed him back. Elena couldn’t deny the giddiness that rose and fluttered in her chest each time she thought back to it. Maker’s breath—for all her agonizing about not deserving him, about how impossible it was for them to have anything, it was remarkably easy to kiss him back, easy to sit across from him in a cafe and talk for  _hours_. Perhaps it was the Maker’s way of telling her she should stop resisting; surely whatever her qualms about being with him could be tackled when,  _if_ , they came up.

But were they together? What had that kiss meant, or for that matter, their date, if she could even call it that. Doubt suddenly flooded through her. A kiss in the rain, no matter how romantic, was hardly a  _relationship._

“Penny for your thoughts?” Cullen’s even voice suddenly cut through her internal debate.

“I was just…thinking,” she replied, not really sure what else to say.

He chuckled, “clearly. About what, may I inquire?”

“Us, I suppose,” she said in a quiet voice.

She saw his smile widen out of the corner of her eye. “I very much would like that, for there to be an us, I mean.” He paused, licking his lips. “But I won’t push you. Whatever you’re comfortable with, Elena; whatever you want. I can wait.”

They pulled in front of her building just as he finished speaking and Cullen threw the car into park, but kept the engine running. Elena mulled over his words. After a moment she turned to him, and unlaced their hands. His smile faltered for just a moment at that, until she leaned over and cupped his face, her thumb brushing over his cheek.

“I’m done making you wait for me,” she whispered before pressing her lips to his once more.

The rain splattered across the windshield, faster than the wipers could keep up with, but it didn’t matter, as the windows were soon fogged over. When Elena finally emerged from his car, her hair was mussed beyond hope and there was a rapidly darkening mark on her neck. She hurried across the sidewalk, a lightness to her step that hadn’t been there before. Cullen drove away once she was safely inside. Across the street, a black car idled under a flickering streetlamp. 


	9. First Date

Dorian pounced on her the moment Elena entered the apartment. As she closed the main door behind her, he sprung out of the living room, eyes taking in her disheveled appearance and the grin plastered across her face.

“Andraste’s fiery knickers, woman, is that a hickey?” He accused, laughter in his voice.

“What?” Elena gasped, turning to the mirror hanging along the wall. Sure enough, there was a small, rapidly darkening red mark at the base of her neck.

Behind her Dorian snorted, “I leave you two alone for one evening and you’re already making out in his car like a pair of horny teenagers.”

Elena couldn’t help the dreamy smile that crossed her face at his words. She and Cullen  _had_  made out in his car—her gentle kiss turning to something much hungrier as they scrambled to touch and taste every inch of each other, to relearn what they had forgotten in the fog of time. Cullen’s favorite discovery, it seemed, was the little noise she made when he nipped and sucked at her neck.

“So what was all that pity-party nonsense about it being impossible to be with each other?” Dorian asked as he followed her into the living room.

Elena shrugged, still preoccupied with thinking about the way Cullen’s stubble had rasped against her skin; how his fingers had fisted in her hair, tugging just hard enough to tip her head back and expose the curve of her throat to him.

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when it comes.”

Behind her, Dorian threw his hands up in the air. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist that wholesome chantry boy for long—next time you should just listen to me and spare yourself all the anxiety.”

Elena rolled her eyes at him as she dropped onto the couch, “yes, Dorian. Of course, Dorian. You’re the smartest man I know.”

“Don’t sass me, missy,” he chided, sitting next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “So, was all that agonized longing worth it? Are your nethers all atingle?”

Elena shoved him slightly, “my nethers are none of your business, D.”

He snorted. “Good point. I already sin enough, I don’t need Andraste mad at me for that,” he said, pulling a face. “Soooo, when are you going to see him again?”

Elena wound a strand of hair around her finger, “tomorrow night. We’re going to watch a movie at his place and order takeout.”

Dorian grimaced, “He can’t even be bothered to take you somewhere nice?”

“Stop it, Dorian,” she said, rolling her eyes. “With the media frenzy over the Temple, I don’t really want to go anywhere public. He offered to take me to dinner and the movies first.”

“You could always have him over here,” her cousin returned with a sly grin.

Elena stared in horror at the thought. “Absolutely not! I do not need a chaperone.”

She was sure their first date was going to be somewhat awkward—what first dates weren’t? She certainly didn’t need the added pressure of having Dorian right there. No, she was definitely going over to Cullen’s place; he had assured her that he lived alone.

She chewed her bottom lip, as she thought. Certainly they’d need to keep their relationship quiet around work and colleagues—Dorian was different of course. They were lucky Cullen didn’t have a roommate to blab about her coming over this weekend. She didn’t even want to think of the HR headache Cullen would have to deal with if it came out that he was dating his assistant. Perhaps they had been a touch hasty…

“So,” Dorian began, pulling her out of her brooding. “How did this happy turn of events come about?”

Shaking her head, Elena gave him the rundown of her coffee date with Cullen, omitting the part where he accidently asked about her mother—she knew he hadn’t meant anything by it, but Dorian was always so fiercely protective of her; she didn’t want to give him a reason to get up in arms.

The evening passed quickly, the buzz of happiness never quite leaving her. She lay in bed, unable to sleep for the memories playing over and over again in her mind. Cullen’s lips, his hands; the way he had pulled her across the car into his lap. Each of his touches against her skin had been a brush of fire, blazing across her body.  She’d run her fingers through his hair again and again as she kissed him, his hands scrambling at her back. When she finally drifted into sleep, her dreams were pleasant and sweet.

~*~

The weekend didn’t come fast enough for Cullen’s liking, though work was even busier than usual. He barely saw Elena, and when he did, they were invariably with their coworkers. He had managed, albeit briefly, to hold her hand in the back of a crowded elevator, the gentle squeeze of her fingers in his and the soft, secret smile on her face was enough to get him through the rest of the week.

Come Saturday, Cullen spent the afternoon cleaning his apartment—he would have done it regardless of whether Elena was coming over or not, but it certainly helped him pass the time while he waited for her knock. By 5:30, he had already cleaned the bathrooms and vacuumed the living room, in addition to washing the dishes and wiping down the kitchen and taking his daily run. Part of him still couldn’t believe the café had happened. Surely this was all some incredibly lucid dream. But no, after three years of yearning, of scanning crowds for her face, she was finally back in his life. The very idea made him tremble with, well, he didn’t want to say anxiety, because it was good kind of trembling. It was the comforting terror one felt when thinking about the Maker.

The only thing Cullen knew for sure was that second chances didn’t come along often and he would do everything to make sure that he didn’t mess this, _them_ , up.

Though he would be hard-pressed to admit it, Cullen had spent not a few sleepless nights thinking about what would happen if he ever found her again—how he would act, what he would say. What he wanted from their relationship. He wanted to take things slow, to spend time learning about her, memorizing the way she laughed at his stupid jokes and how she liked her steak—did she even eat meat?—what was her favorite movie, her worst childhood memory? There were other things he wanted, too, more physical things; Cullen shook his head. All in good time, he supposed.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he checked the time: 5:49. His stomach lurched; she would be here any minute. Was the place clean enough? He didn’t want to come off as a slovenly bachelor, one of those over-grown man-children who pathetically needed a woman to kick their asses into adulthood. Idly he wondered if he should alphabetize his books—or would that appear too compulsive?

Suddenly there was a series of five rapid taps at his door; he recognized the tune and had to fight the urge to tap back the last two beats. Taking a deep breath and smoothing down his blue plaid button up, Cullen unlocked his door and slowly opened it. Elena stood in the hallway, smiling shyly up at him. She was wearing the same yellow dress from Josephine’s tea party, and her hair was pinned back from her face.

“Hey,” he said, hand reflexively lifting to rub the back of his neck as a grin split across his face.

“Hey,” she echoed; after a moment she peered around him into the apartment. “So…”

“Oh, right! Sorry,” Cullen stumbled, stepping back and opening the door wider so that she could come in.

She took a cautious step forward, eyes surveying the open kitchen-living room layout. Turning, she dug into her purse and pulled out a rather large cellophane bag of chocolate.

“I brought snacks for the movie. I mean, it’s not  _really_ a movie night if you haven’t eaten a box worth of Buncha Crunch after the previews have started but before the movie gets going,” she said with a laugh.

Cullen chuckled and took thit from her.

“Thank you. This will pair really well with the instant popcorn,” he said with a wink.

“Your place is nice,” she mused, looking around.

“Thanks, I’ll give you the grand tour after we order dinner,” he said, returning her smile. “And on that note, what are you in the mood for?”

Elena shrugged off her white jacket and Cullen quickly moved to take it from her, hanging it in the hall closet. “Chinese? Messy enough to give us ample opportunity to embarrass ourselves, but not so spicy that we’ll regret it.”

“Well I can’t argue with that!” He laughed, leading her to the sofa so they could look up restaurants.

She sat down next him, leaning close so that she could look at the screen of his computer on the coffee table before them. Her hair fell across his arm as her knee brushed against him, the sudden burst of flowers and sunshine hitting his nose. He smiled to himself, trying to imprint the sweet scent in his memory. Their order complete, he sat back, his arm resting causally across the back of the sofa.

“So, about the tour,” she prompted, a coy look on her face.

“Right, well, this is obviously the living room,” he gestured around them as he stood. “Behind you is the kitchen.”

They moved along the hallway while he flicked light switches on and off as they went through the different rooms. “This is the main bathroom. And this is the spare bedroom—well, I actually turned it into an office.”

He pushed open the door and flicked the light on. Elena peered in, eyes widening as she took in the floor to ceiling bookshelves that wrapped around three of the walls.

“Wow, I didn’t realize you were this big of a reader,” she said as she stepped inside, her fingers trailing over a row of books as she walked around.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as he followed her in, watching as she browsed his shelves. She paused at the self in front of her and plucked a book from it.

“You’ve read the  _Decline and Fall of the Tevinter Empire_? What did you think?” She asked, holding the volume in question out to him.

Cullen took a tentative step forward and plucked the volume from her gently, before leafing through it. “Interesting. Fundamental to the discipline of course, though wildly outdated now.”

She grinned, “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

They chatted about books for a while, and Cullen was surprised by how remarkably easy it was to be around her. Once he got past the initial awkwardness of having her in this apartment— _that_  hadn’t happened in over three years and with wildly different aims—he found conversation flowed easily. She was, he soon learned, an avid and enthusiastic reader. Their chatter must have gotten rather loud because suddenly there was a loud  _woof_  from the direction of his bedroom.

“You have a dog?” She asked, making her way to the hallway, books suddenly forgotten.

“Yeah,” he murmured, flexing his fingers in and out of a fist to keep his hand from going to the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure if you liked dogs, and he’s kind of excitable, so I have him in the bedroom.”

“Oh, I love animals,” she returned, looking at him eagerly. “Can I meet him?”

Cullen couldn’t help the grin that her words brought as he stepped past her towards his room. “Sure, but just remember, he’s about a hundred and fifty pound of pure energy.”

Cullen barely opened the door when Calenhad bounded out, barking with excitement. Ignoring his master, he immediately rushed over to Elena and began sniffing intently at her proffered hand. After a moment of investigation, he gave a happy bark and wagged his stubby tail. Elena laughed and crouched down, scratching behind his ears.

“Aren’t you a handsome lad!” she exclaimed, smiling brightly as she pet his head. She glanced up at Cullen. “What’s his name?”

“Ah, Calenhad,” he said with a lopsided grin.

“Oh, handsome  _and_  heroic. My type of fellow,” she cooed at the dog as she gently rubbed his velvety ears between her fingers.

Cullen watched her fuss over his dog, not a little surprised that Calenhad had taken to her so quickly. Part of the reason he had put him in the bedroom to begin with was that the Mabari didn’t always take well to strangers, and Cullen was always a little wary of introducing him to people.

The doorbell chimed through the hallway before he could remark on it.

“I’ll get that. If you wouldn’t mind putting him back into the bedroom, he’s horrible about begging for food.”

Elena laughed and nodded as Cullen made his way to the door, a little nervous about the fact that he had just told her to look in his room without him. What would she think of the Spartan furnishings? Or the bottles of sleep aids on the nightstand? Had he accidently left any clothing out of the hamper? Shaking his head and resigning himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do about it now, and in any case, it wasn’t as if she was going to run screaming from his apartment over an errant sock, he opened the door to pay the delivery man. As he closed the door, Elena appeared in the living room, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Your dog made a pass at me,” she explained, laughter in her voice.

~*~

Dinner was delicious and soon Elena found herself perched next to Cullen on his sofa. They had settled for a historical drama about one of the blights. It was interesting, but Elena was having a hard time concentrating; she was hyper-aware of the small space between her and Cullen, of the warmth radiating off of his body, of the particular—and frankly rigid—way he was holding himself. Maker’s breath, she wanted to lean against him, but she wasn’t sure if that gesture would be welcomed. He was sitting with his back straight and hands resting against his thighs; every once and a while he would shift slightly, as if he were thinking about moving to a more comfortable position but then thought better of it.

On screen the intrepid heroine was having an awkward yet romantic moment with her right-hand man.

_“You think I’m beautiful?”_

_“You_ know _you are.”_

_“I might like hearing it, from you.”_

Elena took a deep breath, deciding she could be bold as well. She shifted a little, moving closer to Cullen so that their sides touched and her head rested against his shoulder. He stiffened at the initial contact, but then out of the corner of her eye she saw him smile and a moment later he wrapped an arm around her shoulders as he relaxed into the sofa.

The movie was entertaining, if a little melodramatic at points. As the heroine and her lover rode off into the sunset and the ending credits, Cullen flicked back to the main menu. Elena sat up a little, lifting her head just enough so that she could look at his face.

“Well, that was certainly an adventure. What did you think?”

Cullen smiled down at her, his other hand coming to rest against her hip. “I liked it, although I don’t think that armor was historically accurate.”

Elena studied his face—how his golden eyes glowed in the near darkness of the living room, lit up by the soft smile on his lips. She wondered if his mouth would be salty from the popcorn or sweet from the chocolate. Maybe both. Both was good. She didn’t realize how close she had leaned into him, head tilted up, eyes half lidded, until he took her silent invitation and press his lips to hers, pulling her flush against his chest.

She sighed as the warmth of him enveloped her, the soft pressure of his mouth, the strength of his hands wrapped around her body. Cullen lay back on the sofa, until she was on top of him, her knees straddling his hips. Elena nipped his bottom lip, and swiped her tongue against the bite. He opened his mouth, taking her tongue, stroking hers with his own, as one of his hands cupped her rear, squeezing gently. Elena moaned into his mouth as she felt the familiar tingle build, tight and hot, in her stomach.

She ran one hand down his chest, stroking the hard muscles of his body over his shirt as they flexed under her inquisitive touch. Breaking away from his mouth, she kissed along his jaw, sucking and biting gently against his skin as she made her way to his neck. Cullen groaned, his hand flying to her hair, fingers tangling in her bright locks so that he could tug her head back and expose her throat. His lips fastened against her pulse point, licking, sucking, and kissing until she was whimpering and writhing against him. Merciful Andraste, being with him was both thrillingly new and sweetly familiar. She could feel him hardening between her legs and she let her hand drift further down, until she found his belt buckle.

“Elena, honey, wait,” he panted against her skin, pulling her hand away from his trousers.

She looked up at him in surprise, a frown creasing her brow, “did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” he murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb, his own cheeks burning a little red as he spoke. “I was just, ah, hoping we might take things a little slower. This time. Maybe get to know each other better before we, um…”

“Caboodle?” She supplied, wiggling her eyebrows.

Cullen laughed, “yes, exactly that.”

Elena pressed her forehead to his, brushing a kiss across his temple. “I suppose that would be the level-headed, adult thing to do.”

She liked the warmth of his hand on her check, and the feeling of his fingers running through her hair, she reflected as they lay quietly together. It was something she could get used to.

Cullen smiled up at her, his lips brushing over hers with just the barest touch.

“It doesn’t mean I’m not going to kiss you senseless every opportunity I get,” he whispered, the husky tone of his voice shooting straight through her, making her shiver.

Elena settled down against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. Maker’s breath but he was tempting. She had been ready, just moments ago, to ride him senseless on the sofa; they must both want it badly too, if the stiffened heat in his trousers was any indication. But perhaps he was right. Slow might be good—in any case it was sweet that he asked, that he liked her enough to want to take things slow.

“I should probably go home soon,” she paused biting her lower lip. “Unless you’d like to watch something else?”

Without pause to think over her words, Cullen grabbed the remote, and wrapped his arm around her waist, his fingers curving over her hip as he anchored her to his chest. “I could be persuaded.”

~*~

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur. Elena found she couldn’t stop the grin that spread over her face nor the flutter in her stomach every time she thought of Cullen, the way he kissed her so sweetly, or the warmth of his body against hers. Dorian, of course, teased her incessantly about it, but she couldn’t be bothered to care.

She was rather nervous about how work was going to go—she couldn’t be around without wanting to kiss him–surely someone would pick up on it. On the one hand, that wasn’t much different then before they had gotten together, although now it would be even more tempting since she knew he would reciprocate her affections, and she wasn’t holding herself back. By the time Monday rolled around, she had come to the conclusion, after some tentative texting back and forth, that there was no point in worrying about it; all she could do was go to work and attempt to remain professional.

“Princess, if you don’t hurry, we’re going to be late,” Dorian called to her through the bathroom door.

Mornings were not her favorite, and she was especially sluggish on Monday mornings.

“Go on without me. I’ve got an appointment with the bone guy to get this sling off. I’ll just take a cab,” she called back as she combed some mascara onto her eyelashes, mentally smacking herself for forgetting to tell him she wouldn’t be riding with him to work that morning.

“I can drop you off on the way,” he offered.

“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t want you to be late.”

She heard him grumble but a moment later he called out a goodbye and the front door slammed shut. Elena took her time making a bagel with cream cheese and cucumber for breakfast before she finally left the apartment. Luckily there were a number of black city cabs idling across the street from her building. She waved to one, and climbed in the back.

The drive to the doctor’s office wasn’t terribly long, though with morning traffic it took more time than she would have liked. Exiting her cab for the doctor’s office, she noticed another taxi pull up a few parking spaces behind her, though no one got out. Elena frowned and hurried into the building. Her appointment didn’t take long and soon her arm was free of its cumbersome sling. When Elena stepped out into the brisk autumn air, her eyes immediately scanned the street for a taxi. When they fell on the black cab that had pulled up behind her, still parked three stalls down from the front of the building, she paused, a germ of worry beginning to set in.

Black cars were ubiquitous throughout Val Royeaux—whether they were privately owned by the city’s elite or public taxis, one could hardly go a block without seeing them. Still, this didn’t feel right. Something was making her instincts scream in alarm.

Elena turned on her heel and began walking—Inquisition was only a mile or so away, and it wasn’t terribly hot out; it was perfectly reasonable that she would walk to work. As she walked, she recalled all the times in the past week, nay, since she’d returned from Haven, that she’d seen that particular car across the street. She walked faster, her heartbeat thumping in her chest. It was easy to pick out from the other black cabs in the city once she really took a look at it—the curves of the headlights were more prominent than the standard model, and the bumpers were black instead of the usual shiny chrome.

If she was right, then they—whoever  _they_ might be—had been watching her for weeks.  _Stupid! Why didn’t you notice!?_ Why hadn’t they approached her? It was true that she was usually with someone when she entered or left a building, either that or on her phone—with Dorian, with whom she drove to work, or Cullen when he dropped her off at home. Now, though, now she was terribly alone. No one would think anything of her getting into a taxi, and certainly no one would think it remarkable enough to remember if she went missing.

As she sighted Inquisition a block down, she saw the black vehicle creeping just along the edge of her vision through the side streets a block down from the main road. She tried to remain calm; whoever it was—the media, someone working for their nameless bomber,  _someone working for her father_ —she could not let them know she was on to them. Even her decision to walk to work from the doctor’s office might have seemed suspicious.

Relief washed over her as she entered Inquisition’s lobby and approached the main receptionist. “Good morning, can you tell me where Miss Nightengale is, currently?”

“Let’s see. I think she’s meeting with Lady Montilyet at the moment.”

Elena nodded and, entering the elevators, punched the button for Leliana’s floor. If anyone could help her, or knew what was going on it, it would be Inquisition’s intelligence director.


	10. Meetings and Discoveries

Elena arrived at Leliana’s office just as Josephine was stepping out. She nodded to the diplomat as she breezed past her, hoping to avoid small talk. As she entered, Leliana looked up from her desk, the briefest flicker of surprise passing over her face before it smoothed back into her usual calm smile. Elena leaned forward, resting her hands on the surface before her.

“I’m being followed. Is it your people?” She spoke as soon as she heard the door closing behind her, her voice kept low to avoid any eavesdroppers. 

Leliana allowed herself another look of surprise at Elena’s words. “Are you sure?”

Elena nodded, “Yes. Someone in a black car—similar enough to the taxi models that it wasn’t immediately noticeable. It’s been trailing me for at least a month. Is it your people?”

Leliana frowned, “Sit down, Elena. No, it is not my people. Trust me, even you wouldn’t have noticed my people.”

Elena rolled her eyes as she sat in one of the plush chairs opposite Leliana. “There are a number of interested parties who could be behind this; I hate to say it, but not all of them are because of Inquisition business.”

The Orelsian woman nodded, “I think the best course of action would be to discuss the, shall we say, more sensitive aspects of this problem now, in private and bring whatever we settle upon to the attention of our colleagues. But I need you to be honest with me, and not hold back information.”

Elena licked her lips, contemplating. As much as she didn’t want to divulge some of the intel she was sitting on, she knew Leliana was right—and it was better to talk it out with the Spymistress than have all of her dirty laundry aired in front of Cullen and Josephine, especially Cullen. She didn’t know how much she could ultimately trust Leliana, but it was her only option at this point. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and leaned forward.

“What do you want to know?”

~*~

Leliana decided to assign a team of two of her people to shadow Elena for a the next day or so, in order to make sure the situation with the black car didn’t escalate before they could put whatever plan they agreed upon with the other Vice Presidents into action. Elena was relieved that there was a meeting that afternoon, since then she wouldn’t have to find a way to give her shadows the slip to see Cullen, though she certainly wasn’t looking forward to explaining the situation to him–not the least because it would certainly put a damper on their mid-week plans. 

She sighed as she walked onto her floor from the elevator. The discussion with Leliana had been cathartic to say the least—Elena knew she had been keeping too much buried deep, and finally confiding in someone who could understand, at least on some level, was such a relief. Certainly Dorian knew most of what she had told Leliana, but they didn’t talk about it. She hadn’t told Leliana about Cullen, of course, though she probably should have. Still she had held back, telling herself that that it was different; her past only concerned her—and their consequences only affected her. Cullen could be affected if it got out that they were seeing each other.

Elena’s dark thoughts were interrupted suddenly as she opened her office door; her eyes immediately going to the bouquet of flowers that sat on her desk. She wanted to squeal in delight, but managed to restrain herself to rushing across the room to look for a card. She took a deep breath in, savoring the lilac, orchid, lilies, and crystal grace. After a moment she spied a white card.

_Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.Looking forward to seeing you again—C_

She grinned: Cullen had sent her flowers! It took all her self-restrain not to dance around her office like a young girl. She slipped the card into the pocket of her dress—naturally because she didn’t want anyone else to see it and put two and two together, definitely not because she wanted to look at the message throughout the day. Maker’s breath, what had she done to deserve such a thoughtful man? She wanted to run down to his office right that minute and thank him, but she knew that would be inadvisable—besides, they would see each other later that day when the Vice Presidents met.They had to prepare for the finance guy coming in on Friday, and Leliana would bring up their conversation from that morning as well. 

With a soft sigh, she sat in her chair and booted up her computer; she could wait until the afternoon. It wouldn’t kill her to be patient.

Much to her surprise, the morning did pass quickly—she was busy looking over Josephine’s list of potential Grand Cleric allies, both trying to locate them and see if they were still alive after the Conclave. It was bleak work, in a sense, but she enjoyed the thrill of hunting down obscure (and if she was being honest, sometimes classified) information. By the time afternoon rolled around, she had nearly finished the list.

Standing, she stretched, and with one last glance at her flowers, headed out the office door. Grabbing Krem on her way, since he had the last say on who got into her office and should probably sit in on the conversation about her safety, they made their way to the boardroom.

The meeting began as usual with each of the Vice Presidents making their reports in turn, finishing the preliminary part with Elena updating everyone on her work finding Chantry allies. Cullen was economical with his words, where Josephine tended to be long winded, and there always seemed to be something Leliana wasn’t saying. By the time they were all finished, nearly an hour had passed.

Cullen turned to Leliana when there seemed to be lull in the conversation. “Where are we in evaluating possible bombers? Last time we spoke, you and Miss Trevelyan were still combing through dossiers.”

Leliana grimaced, “not as far as I would like. Despite our efforts and reasonably unique descriptions, there isn’t much out there yielding results.”

“Could he be a front for another organization or person?” Elena chimed in.

“Possibly, though there are only a few organizations with the resource to pull such a thing off—and most of those would more than likely admit to the act.” Leliana answered.

“Perhaps a person, then?” Josephine ventured. “There are a number of agents that used be active in the past few years but have since gone silent, perhaps they were preparing for this?”

“Who did you have in mind?” Cullen asked.

Before Josephine could answer, Leliana spoke up, shuffling through a few files sitting before her. “Well, there’s the Sithis Brothers—assassins known for sniping high-level targets connected with the Orlesian civil war, the Angel of Little Death, who, admittedly was more focused on espionage and intelligence extraction than the assassinations she performed in the Free Marches, or the Seheron Soldier, ghost-like assassin said to be operating around the Qunari conflict with Tvinter. All of them have been inactive for about three or four years, although only one of them has last known whereabouts anywhere  _near_ Ferelden, so it’s doubtful.”

Everyone suddenly turned their attention down the table to Elena, where she was fumbling with the glass of water she’d accidently knocked over like Leliana spoke. Krem quickly grabbed her some napkins from the side table and helped her mop it up.

“Sorry everyone. Clumsy today. Carry on,” she muttered, trying to keep the water from spreading over anything important.

“More dead ends, it seems,” Cullen mused. “Do we have any leads on the USB drive the Divine left Elena?” He cleared his throat. “Miss Trevelyan, that is.”

Elena bit the inside of her lip, trying not to smile at his slip of her name. 

“Only that there’s a large volume of files on it, but nothing concrete as to what those files might contain. Solas can’t figure out how to get past the encryption—they’re still working on it,” Leliana supplied. “And before you ask, no, there’s still no word on the red substance, just more reports of it spreading throughout the alieanges–whenever we try to obtain a sample, our lead mysteriously disappears.”

The others nodded, filing the information away in their notes as another lull hit their conversation.

“Well, don’t forget, we have a meeting with our financial advisor on Friday,” Josephine said by way of wrapping the meeting up. “Unless anyone has anything else to add…?”

Leliana cleared her throat and glanced at Elena to see if she wanted to take the lead; Elena shook her head slightly, indicating that the other woman should go ahead.

“It’s come to my attention that an unknown party is shadowing Miss Trevelyan. And has been since nearly our return from Haven. There has been no move made to harm her, or threats of any nature, but still, the situation is not ideal. After going over the options, it’s mostly like someone associated with our mysterious bomber. I’ve assigned two of my people to follow her and make sure it doesn’t escalate. We’ll reevaluate the situation in a week’s time, unless anyone has some suggestions?”

Elena could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on her. She knew she shouldn’t feel guilty about what was going on, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t like the idea of taking away Inquisition resources to focus on her own problems—she knew how to survive, how to take care of herself; surely Leliana’s people could be put to better use. But she’d already tried arguing with the Orlesian lady earlier that day, and they’d just gone around in circles. 

Hesitantly, she looked around the room; Josephine’s look of concern only deepened Elena’s guilt— _if_  this wasn’t Inquisition business,  _if_  this was someone from before, or her father, perhaps, she hated the idea of drawing her colleagues into her personal problems.

Taking a deep breath, Elena glanced at Cullen, her heart immediately squeezing painfully in her chest at the look of worry in his eyes.

“I…I have an idea,” Krem spoke up, cutting through the dense air of the room; everyone turned to look at him, and he continued after Leliana nodded. “I used to work for this guy, he does a lot of private security work, and he’s really good at what he does. Maybe we could hire him to be your bodyguard?”

“What’s the name?” Cullen asked, voice a little sharper than necessary.

“He’s one of them Qunari; goes by the name The Iron Bull.”

“Well,” Elena began, eyebrows raised. “That would certainly be intimidating if I started walking around with a Qunari, but wouldn’t it be a little obvious that we’ve caught on to whoever is watching me?”

“Is that really a problem?” Cullen asked across the table. “So they realize you know you’re being watched; you would still have a Qunari bodyguard if they tried anything.”

Elena considered his words while Leliana and Josephine hashed out how much they could afford to pay a mercenary, versus how much it would cost keeping Leliana’s people tailing Elena twenty-four hours a day. Finally, it was agreed that Krem would contact his old boss, and set up a consultation.

It was nearing the end of the day when the meeting finally ended. As she was making to leave, Elena felt a touch at her elbow. She looked up to see Cullen standing next to her, head bent slightly so that he could speak low in her ear.

“Might I speak with you a moment in my office?” He asked softly, so only she heard him.

Elena nodded and casually followed him out of the board room to a crowed elevator, and finally into his office. He ushered her in, hand brushing over the small of her back as he did so, before he followed inside and closed the door behind them. Elena turned around to face him, a frown creasing her brow when she saw he was upset—arms folded over his chest and a matching frown fixed on his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble? That you were being followed?” His voice was guarded, but she could sense an edge of some deeper emotion hovering just below the surface. “Maker’s breath, I wouldn’t have let you come to my apartment on your own, that’s for certain.”

Elena twisted a lock of hair through her fingers, “I didn’t realize it until this morning, honestly, Cullen. And Leliana, well, she deals with this sort of thing—it’s her job.”

“And it’s my job to keep you—and everyone at Inquisition—safe. You should have told me,” he insisted, pinching the bridge of his nose.

She frowned, struggling to understand why he was upset. “I wasn’t worried about being kept safe—I can take care of myself! I was worried about figuring out who the hell was stalking me.”

 “And if they had attacked you,” he almost thundered, only managing to constrain his voice at the last moment, conscious, no doubt of the many people just on the other side of the wall. “you  _would_ have been worried about being safe then. What if they attacked you at work? I need to know this sort of information. How could you keep something like this from me?”

The air between them crackled with frustration and Elena felt needles traveling up her spine as she realized he was well and truly upset with her. She could feel her own annoyance rising, matching his.

“Are you mad because I impeded your ability to do your job? Or because I didn’t come running to you to save me at the first sign of danger?” She realized the latter statement was out of line the second the words were out, but honestly she couldn’t figure out where he was coming from.

Cullen stared at her, hurt burning behind his eyes.

“That has nothing to do with this,” he snapped in reference to the second part of her question.

“It has everything to do with this! I can take care of myself, Cullen. I have been for a very long time. I do not need you to rush in and solve all my problems,” she snapped, irritation at his patronizing attitude coiling hot and sick in her stomach like an asp.

Cullen crossed the room in a storm, seizing her shoulders and bringing his face close to hers. Elena met his burning gaze with her own, refusing to back down or be cowed by him.

“For Maker’s sake woman, you could have been kidnapped, or  _worse_.” His tone shifted, his eyes growing sad as his voice dropped to a whisper. “You’ve disappeared completely from my life once already; I can’t go through that again, not now.”

At his words Elena felt all of her anger go out of her, and suddenly she felt very tired—tired of lying,  _still_ , of being afraid, of keeping secrets. The truth was she had kept this from him almost out of habit and that really, really bothered her.

Finally, she let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry, Cullen. Asking others for help doesn’t come easily to me.”

He dropped his arms, his face relaxing from one of frustration to worry. Quickly, he pulled her in him, and hugging her close. Elena hummed and settled into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing her cheek to his chest. She knew they shouldn’t show such affection at work like this, but no one would see them in his office, and truth be told, they both needed the comfort.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured into the crown of her hair. “It’s just quite a shock to hear from someone else that my girlfriend is being stalked.”

She giggled, her lips curving up on their own violation as she  pulled away just far enough so she could look at him, a coy little smirk on her face. 

“So I’m your girlfriend?” she purred, quirking up an eyebrow.

She knew it was silly—labels: boyfriend, girlfriend. They were adults, after all, but she couldn’t help the little flutter in her stomach when she heard him say it.

Cullen chuckled at her sweet reaction, and cupped her chin, gently lifting her face to his.

“If you want to be,” he murmured, bending down to press a slow, firm kiss to her lips.

Elena sighed and leaned into his touch, tilting her head back so that she could kiss him with more force. She felt rather than heard the soft rumble at the back of his throat when she brushed her tongue over his lips, and the sound went straight through her. Their kiss heated as he opened his mouth to her and she felt the smooth glide of his tongue against her own. Slowly, he walked forward, backing her up until she felt herself bump into his desk. In one smooth motion, Cullen lifted her onto the desk’s edge, his hands teasing at her bare thighs where her skirt had rucked up. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, fingers tangling in the curls at the base of his neck. Cullen skimmed his hands up her side, briefly cupping her breasts, before he captured her face, his thumbs brushing gently over the curve of her cheeks.

After a moment, they broke apart, her soft, shy smile reflecting back at her on his handsome face. She gave a gentle laugh and rested her forehead against his.

“So, our first fight, eh?”

He chuckled, “something tells me that we’ll be okay.”

They stayed like that for a moment, heads pressed together, happy to get a moment alone with everything going on.  _How am I so lucky_ , she mused.

“Well, you already sent me flowers—so I guess the making up part is taken care of,” she teased, happy that she could finally thank him.

Her heart sank however, when Cullen pulled away sharply, eyes widened.

“Flowers? Elena, I didn’t…I mean,  _should_ I have bought you flowers? It’s not your nameday, is it?” 

He sounded worried and she couldn’t decide if she thought it was cute that he was distress at the prospect of missing her nameday or if she was terrified that if he hadn’t sent her flowers, who had? Who could have known that signing the card “C” wouldn’t have alerted her to the fact that something was very, very wrong?

Quickly she pulled the card out of her pocket and handed it to him.

“You mean, you didn’t send me this?” she asked, holding her breath until he shook his head. “Well, shit.”


	11. Things Fall Apart

Elena was bored. It wasn’t so much an organic boredom, born from nothing to do, but rather it was that she felt she  _couldn’t_  do anything, because she was cooped up in her apartment with Leliana’s people watching her. Tomorrow, finally, after the entire week of babysitters, was the meeting with the Iron Bull. Perhaps she would feel differently with a Qunari bodyguard, but at the moment she felt stir-crazy. It was worse than being in the Chantry.

She pulled out her phone, and debated whether or not it was okay to call Cullen. She  _had_  just seen him a few hours ago, but they had been at work. It wasn’t like she could pull him aside and kiss him senseless—barring their ‘indiscretion’ earlier that week—she couldn’t even do something more simple, like hold his hand.

She clicked on his name, pulling up the screen to call him. He certainly hadn’t taken it well when they had realized the flowers and card weren’t from him, but there wasn’t much he could do beyond check on her each day. Elena had turned the card in to Leliana right away, explaining what happened as best she could without mentioning that she had thought it was  _Cullen_  who sent it. Leliana had seemed suspicious, but hadn’t said anything when she’d taken the card for processing. At least it was promising lead.

Elena paused, finger hovering over the call button, and wondered if her phone might be bugged. After a moment, she decided that was a level of paranoia she didn’t have the energy to deal with and dialed Cullen’s number; he picked up halfway through the second ring.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” his voice came out clear, though he sounded tired. “Is everything alright?”

She paced towards her window, lifting the curtains to see the black car casually parked across the street. She dropped the fabric and stepped back quickly.

“This is going to sound dumb, but, ah, I missed you,” she paused, wincing at just how juvenile she sounded. “I mean, because of my shadows, I can’t slip away to see you.”

There was a pause, and then some shuffling.

“That doesn’t sound dumb at all. I, ah, miss you too,” his voice sounded a tad sheepish.

Warmth flooded through her at his words and she could practically see his shy grin—how was it possible that this sweet man was so interested in her?

“What do you say to me sneaking you into my apartment this weekend? We can order take-out and watch movies in my room. Dorian wouldn’t be too much of a bother,” she paused, a giggle bubbling up past her lips. “Oh, by Andraste I sound like I’m a teenager again, sneaking boys into my room.”

He chuckled. “Did you sneak many boys into your room?”

He meant it to be teasing she knew, but his words touched deep.

“Oh, you know,” she said airily. “A new boy every week.”  _Close enough to the truth anyway._

_“_ Minx,” he laughed. 

Elena paced around the room again, from bed to desk to closet before returning to her bed. She flopped down.

“So what are you doing?” she asked, changing the subject.

A sigh. “I’m just working—I took some paperwork home to go over before I sent it along to my captains tomorrow.”

“Do you ever stop working?” She teased.

“No,” he laughed. “Not unless I’ve got a pretty girl to distract me.”

“A pretty girl, huh? That’s rather vague, what kind of pretty girl?”

She wondered if he was blushing from her teasing. She certainly felt emboldened. Elena smiled to herself; she liked how easy it was to talk to him.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Red-headed, petite, startling green eyes. Doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

“Sounds like quite a catch,” she teased, but unable to stop the flush spreading across her cheeks.

“I certainly think so,” he said, then paused. “So what are you doing?”

She looked around, trying to think of something that didn’t sound quite so provocative. “Lying on my bed,” she waited a beat, deciding if maybe provocative was what she wanted. “Thinking about you.”

She could practically hear him smiling. “Wish I was there.”

Images sprang to her head of their first encounter three years ago, when he had her sprawled across his bed, naked and desirous. Dampness pooled between her legs at the thought; Maker, how she wanted him.

Elena rolled onto her stomach, “you could be. I was serious about sneaking you in.”

“Well, let’s see how your meeting with this Iron Bull goes tomorrow. Perhaps we won’t have to sneak anywhere.”

“But Cullen,” she laughed. “Sneaking is half the fun.”

There was a pause on the line, and Elena bit her lip, trying to decide if she was going to be bolder still.

“So what would you do, if you were here, I mean?” Her voice came out breathy, belying how nervous she felt saying it.

What he if thought it was too much, too fast? He had said he wanted to take things slow, but what did that mean, exactly? How slow was “slow”? He certainly was amenable to making out. She heard him exhale sharply, caught off guard, by her sudden wicked teasing.

“Elena, I—”

“It’s alright, Cullen. Forget I said anything,” she smiled, though he couldn’t see her. “I hear tell that Ferelden is playing Orlais this weekend. How many fights do you think will break out?”

There was a pause and then he chuckled, “I suppose that depends on if you mean only in the stadium or if you’re including bar fights.”

~*~

Cullen sighed, unable to concentrate on his computer screen. He’d made such a fool of himself last night, though Elena had been gracious enough to act as if he hadn’t.

_Lying on my bed, thinking of you. What would you do, if you were here, I mean_?

_Take you into my arms and kiss you senseless, like you ought to be kissed._

That what he should have said, what he  _wanted_  to say. But instead he’d blustered and she’d started talking about sports. Cullen scrubbed a hand over his face, mindful of the stubble growing along his jaw. He hadn’t been able to think about anything but her since they’d hung up—how she would look in his bed once more, how she would feel in his arms, her soft sighs and light touches. Cullen shook his head, trying to pull himself out of such thoughts. He had already had to relieve some of the tension during his shower last night; he couldn’t afford to think about it at work.

He glanced at his computer screen for a moment then sighed, and pushed his chair back from his desk. He would go speak to her—apologize for being ridiculous,  _kiss her_. It had been entirely too long since he’d kissed those delectable lips, and it was time to rectify that. He was already halfway to her office before he realized that this might not be the best idea he’d ever had. But then, no one ever got what they wanted by doing the safe, sensible thing.

He nodded at Krem as he walked towards the door. “Is Miss Trevelyan free?”

The other man nodded. Cullen knocked gently before opening the door and sticking his head in. Elena looked up from her desk, the mid-morning sunlight pooling around her silhouette and illuminating her like one of those golden murals found Grand Catherdral. She smiled, eyes alight, when she saw him.

“Hello,” he said, stepping into the office and closing the door. “Do you have a moment?”

“For you, Mr. Rutherford? Always.”

Cullen grinned, he liked the way her lips wrapped around his name; it sent shivers down his spine as he approached her desk, his mouth going dry as he tried to formulate the right words. She looked up at him patiently, her teeth worrying over her bottom lip. He leaned forward, letting his hand rest on the surface between them, so that he was quite close to her—Maker’s breath she smelled good, something flowery and feminine, though he couldn’t quite identify what it was.

“I, ah, don’t really have anything,” he paused, taking in every detail of her face—her startling eyes, her full lips, the lightest suggestion of freckles, ready to appear from too much sunlight. “I just wanted to see you.”

Smiling, she leaned forward, just a little bit, tilting her head up until their lips were a hair’s breadth away.

“Oh?” she asked, her voice breathless.

“I was thinking about you, you see,” he continued, not moving to close the gap between them, though he desperately wanted to. Instead he cupped her face, running this thumb along the sharp curve of her cheek. “About last night. What I wish I would have said to you on the phone.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her quirk an eyebrow up as her breath hitched at his words.

“And?” she whispered.

Cullen licked his lips, fully aware of how obscene a gesture it was when they were so close. “If I had been with you, Elena, I would have kissed you until you saw stars and your knees went weak. I would have held you close so that it wouldn’t have matter if you could no longer stand.” He paused,stroking his thumb along her bottom lip and admiring the way her breath hitched at his touch. “I would have carried you to your bed, and laid you down, and kissed you like you deserve to be kissed. Fervently, reverently—every inch of you mapped out and explored by my lips.”

She made a noise at the back of her throat somewhere between a moan and a gasp, her pupils blown wide in desire. Cullen leaned back, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face at the thought that he had made her just as distracted as he had been. He plucked one of her hands from where it was gripping the edge of her desk. Carefully, Cullen brought it towards his lips, pausing to stroke the back of her palm with his fingertips, tracing the delicate lines of her bones and veins where they stood out against her moon-pale skin. Finally, he bent his head so that he could brush his lips over her knuckles, one by one. He pressed her hand between both of his own before guiding it gently back to her desk.

Giving her a nod, smirk still burning across his face, he turned to leave her office.

“ _Cullen_.”

Her words shot through him, freezing him in his tracks at the sharp note of desire in her voice. looking back, he fully expected to see her still at her desk. Instead, he hardly had time to brace himself when she pitched into his arms, her hands clutching at his collar and pulling him down for a scorching kiss. Instinctively he pressed one hand to the small of her back, his other arm curling around her shoulders, holding her close as she arched into him. Her mouth was warm and lips soft as she kissed him, her tongue playful as she pressed against him, seeking his own. One hand let go of his collar to slide down his chest, her nails blunted by his shirt. Maker’s breath but he wanted her,  _all_ ofher. Images flashed through his mind of sweeping everything off her desk and taking her right there, right now. Had it really only been a week since they kissed in his office? It felt like a lifetime.

All too soon, they broke apart, though he still held her close. They regarded each other, no words needed for the emotions washing over them. Elena smiled and began straightening his tie and collar.

“It serves you right for teasing me like that, I should let you go out there with your tie crooked and lipstick smudged all over her face,” she teased, voice light.

Cullen grinned, “You’re too good of a person to let me suffer such a fate as office gossip.”

He saw something flicker in her eyes at his words, but as soon as it had come, it was gone. She dragged her thumb over his bottom lip, catching up her lipstick.

“There,” she murmured, letting her hands run over his broad shoulders and down his chest. “Much more dignified.”

“I’ll call you tonight?” He said smiling, his arms still around her, unwilling to let go quite yet.

She smiled up at him through a flutter of dark lashes. “You’ll see me in a few hours at our financial meeting, you know.”

“Around seven, then,” he leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss across her cheek.

~*~

Elena fiddled with her pen as she and her three bosses waited for their financial advisor to arrive for the meeting—Josephine had mentioned he might be late thanks to afternoon traffic, but if Elena had know he would be this late, she wouldn’t have cut her meeting with the Iron Bull short.

The meeting with the Qunari had gone well, all things considered. He was surprisingly jovial, despite the fact she was quite certain he could snap her in half over his knee if he wanted to. She supposed that was what one wanted in a bodyguard, however. They had hit it off over coffee while she told him the need to know information about the job—what they knew of the person following her (nearly nothing), when it had started, what his duties would be. He had agreed almost instantly—“I’m sick of watching old men scratch their balls; this sounds like a real job!”—and it was decided that he would drive her home that evening.

Finally, the conference door opened, pulling her out of her thoughts. Elena’s mouth dropped open at who stepped through the door, completely surprised by who Inquisition used as their financial advisor. Andraste’s ass, but she would recognize that chest hair anywhere.

“Varric?!” She blurted out before Josephine could introduce him to the room.

The dwarf turned at the sound of her voice, a wide grin breaking out when he recognized her. “Choir Girl? Well fancy meeting you here! Shit, the last time I saw you, you were hot footing it out of Kirkwall like the Dread Wolf himself was at your heels. How’ve you been?”

“You know Varric?” Josephine asked, surprise in her voice as his comment hung in the air.

Elena shrugged, “everyone knows Varric; he’s my finance guy, too.”

Varric laughed, “True enough, speaking of which, you and I need to have a chat one of these days. Now let’s get down to business.”

They took their seats and Varric began hooking his tablet up to the projector. “I’ll start off by saying, you’re not totally screwed finance wise. You have enough invested in liquid assets that you should be able to bounce back. Though I’m pretty sure Ruffles here is going to have a harder time with bouncing back your image. Security at the High Level Meeting where the Divine was assassinated? That’s some tough shit to sell, even though from the looks of things, it wasn’t your fault.”

The projector whizzed to life and Varric began going through slides of pie charts and accounting logs. Elena took notes dutifully, though she’d never had much of a head for finances—at least, not on this level. Most of what he said went over her head, but it seemed like Josephine knew what was going on. The Antivan woman would interrupt Varric’s commentary every few slides to ask questions.

As the presentation continued on, Elena couldn’t shake the feeling of her phone vibrating, but every time she surreptitiously checked it, it was blank. After a moment, she realized it must be someone else’s phone. After about the fourth or fifth time she felt the phantom buzz, Cullen jumped up from the table, interrupting Varric’s reply to a query of Josephine’s.

“Excuse me, there seems to be an emergency down at the front security station—Everyone stay here,” he ordered as he hurried out the door, phone in his hand.

The three women and Varric looked at each other, unsure what was happening. After a moment, Varric shrugged and continued on with this report. They all did their best to continue listening, though Elena, for one, couldn’t find it in her to concentrate on taking notes any more. What sort of emergency required Cullen’s attention, at the security station, no less? It made her nervous, and she wondered if maybe she should have told Iron Bull to follow her while she was working as well.

Suddenly, a loud crashing  _boom_  shuddered through the building.

“What the hell was that?” Elena exclaimed, leaping up from her seat.

Alarms began to blare accompanied by flashing red lights.

Leliana stood, gathering their things quickly. “We need to evacuate the building—something has happened.”

They followed her out of the conference room and down to the nearest stairwell. Leliana opened the door cautiously, and then peered down the railing to the many floors below. She motioned them to follow. As they hurried down the stairs—more Inquisition employees streaming along with them with each floor—Elena worried about Cullen and Dorian. Certainly in the basement Dorian would be able to get to the street quickly, though in truth, she knew Inquisition stretched deep into the earth. Dorian might be even farther away from an exit than she was. And what of Cullen? Had he been the one to set off the alarms? Who or what had he run into? Was he safe? As they neared the lower floors of the building, Elena was certain she heard the unmistakable noise of gunfire.

As the finally immerged onto the streets, Elena felt a twinge of panic—whatever was going on in the building wasn’t good, but could it be related to her stalker? What if it was the mysterious Conclave bomber? She ran her finger through her hair, twisting a strand around her knuckle—she had important,  _sensitive_  information in her desk; she couldn’t afford to let it fall into the wrong hands. Making a decision, she turned around and began fighting her way through the crowds of people streaming out of Inquisition.

Elena stopped short when she entered the lobby, horrified by what she saw. It looked like a warzone: the marble floor and main security desk were riddled with bullet holes, and sheaves of paper fluttered through the air. Bodies littered the floor, a few dressed as civilians, while other were clad in grey suits edged with red. Much to her relief very few of the bodies seemed to belong to Inquisition personnel, save for the guard who had been manning the main desk. Elena hurried through the lobby, hopping the turnstile and making for the elevators. It was a tossup between them and the stairs, but at least she’d be quicker this way, with less chance of meeting anyone unsavory.

The elevator dinged open, and she ran inside. In the lobby beyond, the stairwell door burst open, just as the Elena’s elevator doors slid shut.

~*~

Cullen sprinted out of Inquisition followed by Blackwall, Rylen, and other members of the security team, the air outside was hot, despite the season, and it made his shirt cling to his back. From the looks of it, nearly everyone was out of the building and shifting nervously in the park across the street. He scanned the crowd, looking for the other Vice Presidents, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw them standing across the street at the forefront of the employees gathered there. In the distance, police sirens wailed—surely that would be the city guard, come to help and alerted, no doubt, by the evacuation alarms he’d set off.

He ran over to his coworkers, unmindful of his disheveled appearance and the fact that he was now sporting a bullet proof vest—perhaps not the most assuring image. Josephine’s eyes widened when she caught sight of him, but all he could think about was shock that had awaited him in the lobby, and the pressing need to get everyone  _away_.

“What in the name of Andraste in happening in there?” She hissed as he approached, mindful of the straining ears around them.

Cullen shook his head. “We need to get everyone away from here—I don’t know who these people are, but they’re highly skilled, dangerous, and I can’t be sure we found them all. We have to wait for the city guard to comb through the building but until then everyone needs to be sent away—where’s Elena?” He asked, suddenly aware that she wasn’t anywhere near Leliana or Josephine.

Josephine stopped short, looking around, “she was right behind us.”

“I think she might have run back in,” Leliana interjected.

At the Orlesian lady’s words, Cullen could have sworn his heart stopped. Elena had gone back inside the building? What madness had possessed her to do such a thing? What if she ran into more of those  _things_? No, he couldn’t bear to think of it.

Cullen glared, gesturing pointedly to the building behind him, “and you didn’t think it was good idea to stop her? There might be militants still in there!”

“She was gone before I could do anything; if you’re so worried about it, go back for her.” Leliana hissed at him, holding up her hands in front of her. “She survived the Temple; she’ll be fine.”

Cullen could feel his hands curling into fists—he couldn’t believe Leliana’s flippant attitude. Elena could be, at this very moment, surrounded by drug addled militants and all Leliana could do was point out that she survived a bombing? Cullen wanted to scream in frustration. Out of every person who worked at Inquisition why Elena?  _Why?_ Letting out a huff of frustration, he spun around and began to sprint back inside; if he had to guess, she was probably headed towards her office, though Maker only knew where she would be if that wasn’t right.

As he took the stairs three at a time, he tried to block out the images of armed men and women, wearing strange grey and red suits, their mouths dripping and encrusted with strange, pulsing red sores. His heart hammered in his chest at the thought of them still lurking in the building or of what they might do to anyone they encountered. 

The last hour was a blur; he had only just arrived down at the main security desk when those things began firing. Cullen and his team had dropped back into an elevator that led to their onsite armory, hitting the fire alarm just in time. As everyone in Inquisition filtered out through the stairwells and fire exits, they had exchanged gunfire with a large group of hostiles in the lobby.

Inquisition had always planned for something like this to happen, but Maker’s Breath, he hadn’t truly thought it ever would.

Cullen shook his head and tried to ignore the way his palms sweated; he was just lucky he hadn’t panicked—that the flashbacks and tremors hadn’t set in. He knew they would though; he could feel the anxiety and terror lurking just outside his consciousness, waiting for the adrenaline to die down to pounce. He could already predict that he wouldn’t sleep well for the rest of the week, maybe longer. He only hoped the cravings wouldn’t come, biting at his skin like little knives, the siren call of that sweet, blue calm. Cullen shook his head again; no, he needed to concentrate on the present. Find Elena. Get out of the building. Get everyone to safety.

Twenty-one flights of stairs was a tall order, but Cullen didn’t want to risk getting stuck in an elevator. Luckily, he didn’t run into anyone, friend or foe, as he climbed through the building. Finally, he burst the through the stairwell on Elena’s floor, and sent a short prayer to Andraste under his breath as he took off down the hallway towards her office.

_Please let her be here. Please let her be here and okay._ As he entered the outer office, he could hear movement in the room beyond, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. Cullen approached with caution, keeping his gun at his side, though his hands gripped it tightly, ready to aim at a moment’s notice. Gently, he nudged the door open just enough to peer in.

Relief flooded through him as Elena looked up, eyes startled and hands hovering over her keyboard. He had never been so happy to see her. Cullen sighed, tension receding from his shoulders and arms. He stepped into the room.

“Maker’s breath, woman. What are you doing in here?” he took a step towards her, his hand outstretched. “We need to get out the building.”

Elena glanced at her screen for a moment then to his hand, “just give me two seconds!”

He frowned, but pushed back his irritation. “Honey, we don’t have two seconds, there are hostile agents in the building!”

She looked up at him again, an exasperated retort hovering on the tip of her tongue.  _I swear to the Maker, sometimes this woman has no sense of self preservation_ , he thought, contemplating carrying her out of the office if she didn’t move in the next two seconds. Abruptly, Cullen felt the air shift around them, and Elena’s eyes widened, focusing at a point beyond his shoulders.

“Cullen! Get down!!”

~*~

Elena’s body reacted instinctively—her hand flying towards the dagger shaped letter opener on her desk and throwing it with deadly accuracy across the room. Cullen dropped to the floor and rolled, just in time for the blade to go whizzing through the air right where his face had been. There was a sickening squelch as the letter opener lodged into the eye of the gunman standing behind him. The body hit the floor with a thud.

Cullen gaped at her as he stood, and panic began to flood through her.  _Shit_ , she thought.  _That certainly wasn’t something normal girls do, is it?_

“Where in fresh hell did you learn to throw like that?” he exclaimed, glancing back at the body behind him.

While his back was turned, Elena quickly ejected her flashdrive and pocketed it. “Never mind that, weren’t you saying that we need to get out of here?”

She hoped returning to his original point was enough to distract him away from the fact that she’d just killed a man—from the fact that she should be horrified by what she’s just done, instead of calmly waiting for him to answer her.

He nodded and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come on, we’ll take the stairs.”

Relief washed over her as Elena followed him down, down, down, their hands clasped tightly, each turn in more dizzying than the last. How was it that he had arrived at her office? Had he been looking for her? She would have asked him, but any unnecessary noise might draw attention to them. They finally made it to the lobby landing, and Cullen paused, easing open the door. He waited a second for any indication that there might be enemies nearby before carefully looking around the corner, and when no hostile shots rang out, he led her into the elevator bay. Looking towards the front of the building, Elena could see the doors and the crowd beyond. If she looked closely, she could almost see Leliana and Josephine gesturing wildly while they spoke to other members of the security team. If they could just make it across the lobby, now, perhaps everything would be okay.

She hadn’t been worried about herself, not really, but the thought that Cullen had come back in for her because he wasworried had her not a little anxious to be out of the building, to get him away from any confrontations. As they rounded the corner of the security desk, the unmistakable shot of a gun rang out and Cullen quickly thrust her back behind him, both his hands flying to the handgun he had holstered at his hip. On the other side of the lobby, a group of the strange agents were clustered, their attention very much on where she and Cullen were hiding.

“Damn it,” Cullen exclaimed, crouching low at the edge of the security desk. “Elena, stay here.”

“You can’t fight all of them,” she hissed, gripping his forearm as fear seized her chest; there was no way he could take down all five of agents with only a handgun, and she didn’t have a weapon—maybe if she could get close enough, but no, they were all armed, if her quick scan of the group could be trusted.

“Who’s there?” came a wet snarl, and Elena could almost see the agents’ horrid red sores smacking against their mouths.

Cullen turned to her, something heavy and tight in his warm golden eyes. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but another shot rang out and the wall across from them exploded in a cloud of marble dust. Moving swiftly, Cullen cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Stay here, sweetheart,” he murmured.

And then he was gone.

Elena cursed as more gunfire exploded around her. If Cullen got himself hurt, or  _worse_ \- she shook her head. No, this wasn’t a productive line of thought. She needed to help him, damn the consequences. Elena realized with a painful squeeze to her heart that she couldn’t live with herself if Cullen didn’t come out of this, all for some valiant notion of protecting her. Taking a deep breath and sending a silent prayer to Andraste, Elena quickly stood, taking stock of the situation.

Cullen had managed to cross the lobby, and had three of the five agents down. _Good_. Unfortunately, his gun lay discarded on the ground, but Elena watched as he moved between the two enemies, blocking their attack with a kind of concentrated grace of someone who has been fighting for a long time. For a moment Elena thought he might be fine without her, but then one of the fire exit doors burst open and two more agents appeared, very much ready to fight.

Elena sprang into action, years of training and muscle memory coming back to her the moment she began to run across the lobby. The world around her receded, until all she saw was the enemy.  _This is what I was made for_ , she thought as everything clicked into place even after years of neglect and pretending to be someone who she was not. She blurred past Cullen, letting her body roll forward until she was flipping through the air, landing with a hard downward kick to the closest approaching agent. He fell down, his gun skittering across the floor. Using momentum, she wheeled round, planting her feet on either side of the prone figure. In one swift motion, she griped his chin and forehead, pulling hard until an audible  _crunch_ rang out and the figure slumped.

She looked up to see Cullen still trading blows with one of his opponents, the other felled by a strong punch to the temple. Elena spun, ready to face the second newcomer. He held a long, wicked looking knife his hand. She grinned.

“You shouldn’t play with toys like that you know, you might cut yourself.”

His inflamed, sore riddled mouth twisted in a scowl as he slashed at her. Elena dodged, giddy almost, to fight again. It was like an old dance that she had half forgotten, but the moment the music began playing her body remembered the steps perfectly. She wove through the arc of his slashes, getting in sharp jabs of her fists under his guard. At the back of her mind Elena knew she was playing with him, and that she shouldn’t. It was  _dangerous_  and she was out of practice. But she was elated, dancing circles around her opponent like the most graceful ballerina.

Fast as lightening, she snaked her hand out, fingers seizing his wrist, twisting and pressuring at just the right point for the knife to go spinning out of his grip. She snatched it, twirling it in her hands. Fuck, she hadn’t held a blade in three years, but she wielded it like it was an extension of her arm. He dodged her attack, but she struck hard, moving him back towards the wall. He made to rush her, but she side stepped him, her foot hooking his leg. As he fell to the ground, she kicked him so that he rolled onto his back.

In one fluid movement, Elena straddled his waist, and held the blade to his neck.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” she snarled, tone mocking.

His red-rimmed eyes glanced down to her hand against his neck then back up at her. Behind her, if she were listening for it, she would have heard the sounds of Cullen knocking out his last opponent and of the front doors bursting open.

“I’ll tell you,” she hissed, half drunk on the exhilaration of it all. “In Orlais, they call me l’Ange de la Petit Mort–the Angel of Little Death, because when I kill you, you’ll  _beg_  for your release.”

Elena raised the knife,blade poised to slice across his throat. She brought her hand down, the wicked edge whistling through the air on its descent. A second before it kissed his flesh, a strong grip caught her wrist, pointed nails digging into her skin.

Elena jerked her head up, the haze of battle clearing from her mind as she found Leliana standing next to her.

“Not quite yet, my dear,” the Orlesian woman purred. “I need to ask our friend some questions first.”

With a nod, Elena let the knife clatter to the ground and stood gracefully.

“If you want to question him, Leliana, we need to get out of here—fast,” Josephine said, glancing at the street where the first sight of city guard squad cars appeared. “We’ll meet at my house. In three hours. Do what you must.”

Leliana set to work swiftly, enlisting Blackwall’s help at securing the agent and disappearing—though whether deeper into the building or another site, Elena didn’t know. Josephine nodded to her and Cullen once, and left with one more whispered plea to leave Inquisition as quickly as possible, least the city guard find them.

Elena nodded and took a deep breath, steeling herself to look at anyone but Leliana—who, of course, already knew who she was, who had known probably before they’d ever met. Her gut clenched in a sickening way as she readied her nerves to look at Cullen, known he may never look at her the same way again now that he realized what she was,  _who_  she was. Surely her sweet, affectionate man would run, repulsed and horrified at her ridiculous masquerading, at her pretending to be sweet, and gentle, and kind. Surely he saw was a disgusting farce it all was. She was a killer. Forged in fire and blood, made for death. This was what she had been afraid of, this was why she had tried so hard to deny her attraction to him—her desire to be in the warm sun of his affection.

Elena took a deep breath, and glanced to where she knew he was standing.

Cullen flinched as their eyes met sending a sharp stabbing pain through her chest. She realized her face was still set in a fierce snarl; focusing on the tension roiling through her body, she relaxed her expression, but somehow the apprehension in his eyes only grew. They were standing so close to each other, barely a two feet apart, yet she felt that there was a yawning chasm between them, an echoing abyss that she couldn’t hope to cross.

“Cullen, I—”

“Who are you?” He interjected, cutting off her half formed apologies.

It hurt, Maker’s Mercy did it ever hurt–the shattered,  _broken_  confusion in his voice hit her so hard she almost stumbled back. She couldn’t do this right now, not amidst the rubble of the lobby—it was too much like the Temple again, everything destroyed and ruined around her.

“We shouldn’t talk here—Josephine’s right.”

She reached for him, she knew she shouldn’t have, but the incessant need to comfort him over rid her better judgment. Cullen snatched her wrist, keeping her hand away from him.

“I need some time,” he said, voice flat, dropping  her arm like it was poisoned. He took a step back from her, “forgive me.”

Elena reeled back, his words washing over her as if she’d been slapped. She could feel her eyelashes fluttering fiercely, desperate to keep the tears from falling.

“Of…of course,” she managed to say, her voice wavering only at the end.

With a shake of his head, Cullen turn on his heel and left, passing Dorian as he burst through the lobby entrance. The two men glanced at each other, her cousin’s eyes going wide at the expression on Cullen’s face. She could almost hear him swear as he dashed over to her, realizing what must have happened.

“Fasta vass! I was worried you were dead!” He exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her in a fierce embrace. She hugged him back numbly, but after a moment she pulled away. Dorian held her at arm’s length, his warm, dark eyes taking in the tears hovering on her lashes. “Come on, darling girl. We need to get out of here—I can’t have you crying in public you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "La Petit Mort" is also a euphemism for an orgasm, so her name is a sex pun.


	12. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brief mention of sexual abuse

Elena sat in silence as Dorian drove them through the streets of the city. She could feel him looking at her each time the car stopped with traffic, but she pointedly continued to stare out the window. She didn’t want to talk about it—she  _couldn’t_ talk about it now. The look on Cullen’s face, the way he flinched away from her. She shook her head; now was not the time to wallow.

Twilight was falling as they pulled up to the apartment building. As the vehicle came to a stop, she jumped out and slammed the door behind her, making her way to the front door with Dorian hot on her heels. As they approached, a shape moved swiftly in the shadows, tearing a scream from her throat. A second later, Iron Bull came into view and Elena pressed her hand to her chest, waiting for her heart to stop hammering against her rib cage.

“Fucking hell, Bull. You scared me half to death,” she chastised. 

“Sorry, Boss, not my intent,” the big Qunari sounded almost sheepish. “Leliana called me and said to meet you here. Said some serious shit had gone down at Inquisition today and that I was to stick by you.”

Elena nodded, not surprised that Leliana would send him—most likely to make sure Elena didn’t run. Behind her, Dorian cleared his throat.

She glanced back at him with a look but made introductions regardless. “Oh, Bull, this is my cousin and roommate, Dorian Pavus. Dorian, this is the Qunari mercenary we hired to watch my back, Iron Bull,” she said, pushing past Bull to enter the building.

Behind her, the men shook hands before following her up. Unlocking the apartment door, she glanced back at Dorian. “Pack your essentials, something tells me we’re not coming back for a while.”

With that, Elena dashed into her room and pulled out a small roller suitcase. It was more than she had allowed herself last time, but with Dorian’s car and Inquisition’s resources, she supposed she could be indulgent. Opening the closet door, she crouched down and felt around for the loose floorboard. After a moment of struggling to locate the seam, she lifted it and pulled out her fireproof safe. She lugged it up and pressed her thumb to the unlock pad. It beeped and then slid away to reveal a combination lock. She spun the dial until it clicked open and began stuffing everything into her purse: passports, birth certificates, other government documents from across the Free Marches and Orlais, Chantry identification cards. She carefully packed her external hard drive, and a handful of USB sticks followed by three thick envelopes of cash and two nondescript cell phones. She grabbed the small duffle bag that rested deeper in the safe and unzipped it, checking to see that a small stack of essential clothes were still packed, along with a sleek black box containing her various gadgets and tools, and an ultra-soft rolled up cloth case that held her knives. She shoved her purse into the bag and stood.

She glanced around her room, soaking in the white painted furniture and the shabby chic bedspread. There were so many things here—things she’d never allowed herself to have before, things that she now had to abandon. Elena shook her head and squared her shoulders before going to the roller suitcase and unzipping it. She packed her jewelry, at least the most important pieces, and then an old photo album that had been squirreled away under her bed. She threw in more clothes—sweaters, her winter coat, boots, the yellow dress and shoes Dorian had bought for her birthday, a few more of her nicer gowns that she was loath to leave behind. She hesitated a moment, hand hovering over Cullen’s white button up shirt before she folded it and packed it up. Dashing into her bathroom, she grabbed toiletries and her makeup bag—she knew she shouldn’t bother taking it–she could buy more; but damn it, there was hundreds of sovereigns worth of product there. Finally, carefully nestled between clothing, she tucked her laptop and tablet in and zipped everything up.

Just before she headed out into the hall she caught a glance of herself in the mirror.  _Yikes._  Her hair was a disheveled mass of red around her dirt- and blood-streaked face. Her clothes were dusty and ripped in places. With a huff, she kicked off her shoes and tore off her suit. She pulled on a pair of jeans, a purple v-neck t-shirt, and one of Dorian’s Vyrantium University hoodies. She dragged a brush through her hair, before gathering it up in a messy bun. There. She looked more or less normal now.

Grabbing her bags and shuffling on some shoes, she barreled out into the living room. “Dorian, you’ve got one minute. It’s time to go!”

Bull leaned against the fair wall, arms crossed over his powerful chest. He raised an eyebrow; well, she  _thought_ it was only one. It was hard to tell with the eye patch.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” He rumbled.

She shook her head. “Car.”  _The apartment might be bugged._

The Qunari nodded and pushed himself off the wall. “I’ll take your bags down.”

Elena clutched the duffle bag to her side almost instinctively. “You can take the roller bag.”

Bull seemed trustworthy, but there was no way she was letting her bug out bag out of her hands. A moment later, Dorian appeared from his bedroom carrying a large leather bag with a smaller roller bag behind him.

“You had better send some of those interns back here to get the rest of my ten thousand sovereign suits or I am going to be really, really put out,” he grumbled, before stalking out the door and down the hallway. 

Without a glance back, Elena followed him. 

The ride to Josephine’s was tense, yet between Elena explaining what had transpired earlier that day, answering Bull’s questions, and giving Dorian directions, the drive went quickly. In the dim light of the streetlamps, Bull gave her a searching look.

“ _You’re_  the Angel of Little Death?” he asked incredulously. “Do you really even need me to stick around?”

She paused, thinking. She didn’t know the mercenary well, but Inquisition had already paid out a month’s salary to him. And she was somewhat rusty when it came to the great game.

“I’d appreciate it if you stayed. I’ve been out of the field for a few years now,” she said, decision made.

Bull grinned as they pulled up to the curb outside Josephine’s house. “I’m so glad I took this job.”

The mood in Josephine’s drawing room was somber to say the least, and Elena could almost taste an undercurrent of anger in the air–though whether it was directed at her or their attackers, she couldn’t say, perhaps both. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana stood together at the far end of the room near the fireplace, speaking in hushed whispers. Varric, Solas, and Blackwall were spread around the room, sitting and waiting. As they entered, Calenhad came bounding over to them, wagging his tail excitedly and barking.

Elena reached forward to scratch him behind the ears, “hello, handsome!”

“Calenhad, heel.” Cullen snapped, causing the Mabari to whine, though he obeyed his master.

Tension roiled through the room as the three Vice Presidents regarded her. Leliana’s expression was blank, Josephine’s tentatively friendly, and Cullen’s furious. Elena swallowed and stepped forward, digging in her bag as she approached Leliana, not looking to her right, where Cullen stood glowering

“Here,” she said, handing over an external hard drive and a USB stick. “That has all my files–from dossiers and schematics to vaguely interesting but otherwise useless chatter–all catalogued and cross referenced by person, organization, country, and theme. The stick will decode the encryption, but you’ll need a copy of Varric’s  _Tales of the Champion_ , first edition, to decipher the code instructions. And also thumb print and voice to activate the hard drive once it’s connected to a computer.”

“In other words, it’s useless to us without you,” Cullen said.

Leliana gave him a sideways look before taking the items from Elena. “What do you want in return?”

Elena didn’t hesitate–she had spent the entire car ride working this out in the back of her mind. 

“Job security. I don’t want to stop working for Inquisition just because… well, only because my life is more  _complicated_ than I may have originally let on. And Dorian has his job too, for as long as he wants it. He may have known about…about my past, but he wasn’t complicit in my deception.” Elena paused and fidgeted with a lock of her hair–she wasn’t sure how far she could push this. “It would be nice if I was financially compensated for the information, but I won’t demand it; it’s a peace offering.”

Leliana nodded, “done. I’ll review the information and have compensation deposited in your account.”

“What of the letters of recommendation you gave us? And your background checks? Where all those falsified?” Cullen demanded, clearly not as willing as Leliana to move along as if nothing had happened.

Leliana turned to her colleague swiftly, “ I checked her background–her _compete_  background, so you don’t have to worry about security breaches there, Commander.” Her tone brooked no argument.

He stared at her, aghast. “You  _knew_ she was lying to us?”

Elena flinched at his words, but remained silent, curious to hear what Leliana would say. She has suspected the Orlesian lady knew more about her identity than she let on, but how much more, Elena wasn’t sure. Now was her opportunity to find out.

“Of course I knew. What ever did you think ‘working for her father’ meant?” Leliana snapped back, giving Cullen a shrewd look, trying to read more than the surface he put on.

Cullen turned to Josephine. “And you, were you aware of her background?”

She hesitated a moment before nodding. “I suspected, yes.”

Cullen threw his hands up in the air and let out an exasperated sigh. “How am I to maintain our security if the three of you are keeping things from me? I need to know that our executive assistant is a fucking assassin and spy!”

“Leliana is the same!” Elena snapped back, fed up with his belligerence. “But you’re not making a fuss over it.”

“Because I  _know_  who Leliana is. Who the fuck are you?” He thundered back.

Elena flinched at his words, but tip up her chin–he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her cry. 

“Don’t talk to her like that,  _Templar_!” Dorian sneered, coming to Elena’s side and curling a protective arm around her shoulders.

The air in the room felt suddenly too thick, and Elena struggled to breath amidst the tension rolling off the two men beside her. It was sweet of Dorian to stick up for her, but honestly, she deserved Cullen’s anger–she had abused his trust, plain and simple. She deserved every word he hurled at her and more.

“I haven’t been a Templar for a long time,” Cullen gritted out, stepping towards Dorian.

Despite being shorter than Cullen, Dorian didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the larger man crowding his space. Instead, he squared his shoulders and managed to look down his nose as he spoke.

“Huh, it’s almost as if you left a career that wasn’t what you wanted for yourself anymore,” the sarcasm in Dorian’s voice was palpable. “Fancy that, people changing and taking control of their lives.”

The two men were right in each other’s faces, chests practically touching. Elena wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Dorian so furious before. And Cullen, well, he looked like he was going to take a swing at her cousin any second.

“That’s enough!” She snapped, stepping between them. “Dorian, I’m fine. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

Dorian began opening his mouth like he wanted to argue, but he seemed to think better of it, and simply shook his head. “As you say, Princess.”

Patting her shoulder reassuringly, Dorian turned and made his way back to the overstuffed sofa. Elena realized that during their  _discussion_ , many of the others had cleared out of the room, leaving only her bosses, Dorian, and Iron Bull. With a heavy sigh, she plunked down next to Dorian and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“I suppose I owe the lot of you an explanation.” She said, wearily.

Cullen made a huffing noise, but was shushed by Josephine, who made her way to a blue armchair. “I must admit to a certain amount of curiosity. I knew there was more to you than you’ve been letting on, but Leliana has been rather tight-lipped about your background.”

Elena waited for Cullen and Leliana to settle into their chairs, and to organize her thoughts. She had always wondered if a day like this would come–a day where she had to try to communicate things that were impossible to understand to those who didn’t grow up the way she had. With a hesitant glance at Cullen’s thunderous expression, she took a deep breath.

“Most of the noble houses in the Free Marches, much like their counterparts in other nations all across Thedas, have their own intelligence networks. Some of them are elaborate and costly, while others are rather informal and depend on nothing more than the rumor mill. House Trevelyan is one of the former. Despite the fact that my father is only a Bann, he built his fortune, reputation, and power by providing intelligence and protection to other similarly ranked houses. Now of course, he’s quite a bit more powerful that what his title might imply, and he wishes to see that power translated into formal authority.”

Elena paused and regarded her audience for a moment, trying to decide if any of this information was new to them. They all seemed to be held rapt by her words, so she continued.

“My brother, Henry, is the eldest of my father’s children, and he, of course, has been groomed to be my father’s heir. He knows of the intelligence network, and often helps my father run it, but he doesn’t participate in retrieving or securing information. My brother William is a Templar and represents our family in a completely legitimate capacity to the Order and to the Chantry. I’m not even sure how aware he is of father’s intelligence network.” She paused, and licked her lips, stealing herself to continue. “I however, was used to extract, retrieve, and secure information throughout my childhood and adolescence. Not only did my father understand that men found me beautiful, but he understood that aristocratic men, secure in the knowledge of their own superiority, are quite willing to divulge information to a pretty, empty-headed woman that they wouldn’t dream of telling their peers.”

She paused again, this time to push back the flood of memories and accompanying nausea that welled forward. The way men her father’s age or older had touched and petted her, held her down and leered over her as they whispered little secrets that they hoped would make her think them important and powerful. With a shudder, she shook her head. Oh, they never took her maidenhead of course–she was a gently born lady after all–but some of the things she’d endured had been even more humiliating. 

All for the honor of House Trevelyan.

“As I said, my father wished for his power to be translated into legitimate authority, so he sent me to Kirkwall to secure it for him.” True enough; she still wasn’t ready to explain her finial mission–it was too raw, and too personal. They wouldn’t understand. “I realized halfway through the mission that I couldn’t go through with it–I would end up hurting people for whom I had come to care greatly, and I didn’t like the person I was becoming. So I fled. And I took the money my father had used to secure my place in the Chantry so I could fulfill my mission. He’ll kill me for deserting the family, but For taking the money as well, I’m sure he’ll make it slow.”

The room was silent as the grave for a long moment as her audience processed her words and their implications. Finally, Bull cleared his throat. 

“And how much did you take?” The Qunari asked, head cocked to the side.

“About five thousand ounces of gold.” Elena murmured, terrified of saying it out loud.

“You father would kill you for five thousand sovereigns?” Cullen asked, incredulous, some of his anger apparently abated.

Elena shook her head. “You misunderstand me. Five thousand ounces of gold, or just over three hundred pounds, is equivalent to over six and a half million sovereigns.”

~*~

Cullen stared at the woman seated across from him, his mind boggling at the tale she spun.  _Six and a half million sovereigns._  Sweet Maker, that was over his entire quarterly budget for Inquisition.

“Not that I can access most of it…It would be too easy to trace,” she mumbled sheepishly.

Cullen scrubbed a hand over his face, forcing his brain to process all the information he’d learned today. The woman he’d been, well, perhaps not  _in love with_ , but for whom he had cared very deeply over the past three years had been lying to him about her identity. And not only him, but their coworkers, putting all of Inquisition at risk. What was worse, something about the way she describe her work for her father made him uncomfortable, made his skin prickle. and he had the distinct feeling, furthermore, that there was more Elena was not telling them. The mission leading up to her defection was still shrouded in mystery, and she had been careful to describe it in only the most general terms. 

And beyond even that, they still had to deal with who the hell had infiltrated their building today, find a new, safer location, deal with this new threat  _and_ settle the roiling hotbed of tension and violence that was Kirkwall at the moment.

Cullen sighed wearily. It was too hard to sort of his personal feelings and his professional ones at the moment. To difficult to sort through all the threads and see how they interconnected, if at all. And too damn painful to see Elena’s pretty, achingly vulnerable eyes ever time he looked at her. 

“What are we to do now?” He asked, glancing at Josephine and Leliana.

Out of the corner of his eye, it seemed Elena slumped in relief that he didn’t interrogate her further.

“I suppose we’d best find a new Headquarters,” Josephine said slowly. “Perhaps out of the city; somewhere easily fortified. Any ideas?”

Leliana frowned. “I believe we own an old ski lodge along the Orlesian-Fereldan border. It might be a bit shabby, but it’s isolated and defensible. We could be there in a day or two, depending on how quickly we mobilize.”

Josephine tilted her head a Cullen, silently asking his opinion. He nodded; the site sounded sufficient for their needs, at least at the moment.

“Right then, everyone call your second-in-commands and spread the word. The lodge is known as Skyhold. I’ll give you the coordinates and route. Gather your things and we’ll meet back here in an hour to organize rides and take stock of who else we may need to contact,” Leliana ordered.

Cullen nodded, phone already out of his pocket to move the order down the chain of command. He was weary, but he hoped that by this time tomorrow he would be in a new bed in a new HQ. With one last lingering, regretful glance at Elena he left the room to make his calls.

He knew he need to speak with her. The closed down, lost look on her face made him ache deep in his chest. But he was too hurt and angry at the moment.

Soon though, he’d need to swallow his pride and speak with her. He couldn’t bear not to. 


	13. Kirkwall Once More

Elena practically tumbled out of Dorian’s SUV, aching to stretch her legs. Nearly thirty hours in the car and she was quite sure she never wanted to ride in a vehicle ever again. The drive itself hadn’t been terrible, between Dorian, herself, Bull and their things, there wasn’t much room for anything else, so she didn’t have to worry about Josephine or Leliana interrogating her. Or Cullen glowering the whole way.

In order to make sure they weren’t followed, or that they didn’t alert anyone who might be watching to their movements, they’d all taken different routes, and many of their lower-ranking personnel would be arriving later in the week. Elena had agreed to coordinate everyone’s route and to maintain contact while they drove. Unfortunately for her, that meant she had to call Cullen ever hour and check in with him. Hearing his clipped tones crackled over her phone had sent her heart thundering in her chest, and anxiety roiling everywhere else. Would he ever forgive her? _Did she deserve forgiveness?_

Placing her hands on the small of her back, she bent backwards and twisted, taking perverse satisfaction in the popping noise her joints made. She gazed around as Dorian came to stand next to her.

“Is this place even habitable?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest at a sudden gust of wintry wind.

“Surely, it is, but by what is the true question I should think,” Dorian replied.

The ski lodge might once have been grand, but it was now run down. The main building was perhaps three stories tall, with wings coming off of the east and west ends. The roof of the east wing looked caved in, and many windows across the entire front facade were broken. But, Leliana had been right--the property was defensible. Mountains curved around the grand hall and its various outbuildings on three sides, leaving only the front open--and that was currently fenced in by a what once might have been a elegant stone wall. It certainly needed repairs, but it was standing and that was what was important at the moment.

Looking around the gravel forecourt, it appeared they were the last ones to arrive. With a heavy sigh, she glanced at Dorian.

Bull appeared behind them, after finally managing to get his horns out of the car’s door frame. “So are we going in, or what?”

The main hall--really, the entire building’s--foundation was made of massive stone blocks, and they had to hike up nearly two flights of stairs to reach the front door. As they dodged ice puddles and debris, Elena could begin to hear the voices of her coworkers and bosses.

Bull pushed the large wooden doors open and motioned for Elena and Dorian to step in. The lobby of the lodge had once been decorated with fine furnishing and rustic decor, but now much of what remained was either broken, fallen over, or covered under a heavy layer of dust and debris. As they entered, Josephine, Leliana, Cullen, and the others--including Varric--turned to look at them.

“Glad to see you made it safely,” Josephine said with her usually cheery smile.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Elena observed with a glance around. “What is our status?”

“We’re safe here for the time being,” Cullen answered, not quite looking at her. “However once the rest of our personnel arrive and it becomes safe to withdraw funds again, we must build up the defenses here.”

“There are a few rooms more or less suitable for use,” Josephine cut in. “However most of them would need a thorough cleaning. For the next week or so I fear we shall all have to sleep in the lobby.” The Antivan woman turned to Cullen fully, “I think, though, that it would be more prudent to reach out to potential allies, Commander, rather than isolate ourselves here--”

“I thought we were all of the opinion that putting Lady Trevelyan’s intel to use was first on our agenda. And there’s always Kirkwall to sort out,” Leliana input.

“Yes!” Josephine exclaimed before whipping out her tablet and swiping through her email. “I’ve had communication with Police Commissioner Vallen--Kirkwall needs immediate aid. Prince Sebastian’s thugs have been more aggressive in the streets while he pursues and equally aggressive political campaign.”

Elena wrapped her arms around her middle at the mention of Sebastian. She had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going.

Cullen shook his head, “we need to focus on our immediate surroundings, rather than Kirkwall.”

“Kirkwall is the perfect opportunity to prove to Thedas that we’ve not be defeated and that Inquisition is still a viable power,” Josephine countered.

“What do you think, Elena?” Leliana asked sweetly. “You lived in Kirkwall for some time, you should have some insights into the situation there.”

_Damn_. She knew the part of herself that agreed with Cullen was doing so out of self preservation. If Sebastian ever saw her again...best not to think about it. But what Leliana and Josephine were saying was logical. She decided a question was the best course of action.

“What could we do in Kirkwall thought? We don’t have our usual reserve of resources at our disposal, and we won’t for a while.”

Leliana gave her an appraising stare that made the hairs on the back of Elena’s neck rise, but before the Orlesian lady could answer her, Josephine chimed in.

“I have heard tell that Prince Sebastian will be at a charity gala in Kirkwall later this week, along with Commissioner Vallen. Perhaps this would be a good opportunity for Inquisition get a feel for the political climate in the city?”

“Kirkwall you say?” Varric cut in for the first time, as he wandered over from a dilapidated table where a small spread of lunch had been laid out. Elena had quite forgotten the dwarf was even in the room until he spoke suddenly. “Red, I tracked down a lead to that “red stuff” you wanted me to look into, and I got a hit in Kirkwall. Tied to some hoity-toity society person...who’ll probably be at this gala.”

Elena watched, a sinking feeling plummeting in her stomach, as the three Inquisition Vice Presidents exchanged glances.

“Kirkwall does seem to be the city on which everything is centered…” Cullen finally allowed.

“It’s settled then,” Josephine grinned, before taking out her tablet and apparently checking off a few notes to herself. “Commander Cullen will go to Kirkwall--since you’re already familiar with the city--and Lady Trevelyan will accompany you, since she’s an acquaintance of Prince Sebastian. Varric and I will make all the travel arrangements. And of course you’ll want to take some of your staff if they arrive in time.”

“I don’t think--” Elena began, trying to point out that she had repeatedly said Sebastian would, in no uncertain terms, _not_ want to see her.

“Now see here--” Cullen snapped, at the same time, a rather distressed glower on his face.

The room fell silent at their protests as everyone glanced back and forth between the two of them. Elena froze, worried that it would become apparent that there was more between her and the Commander beyond a simple employee / employer relationship.

After a moment, Leliana placed a hand on Cullen’s forearm. “I know you’re still upset about, shall we say, recent developments, but you really are the best two team members for the mission.”

Elena swallowed her protests--even if she dared challenge the look in Leliana’s eye, to do so would invite questions she didn’t want, and frankly couldn’t afford.

She gave a stiff nod. “Of course.” _Well, fuck._

~*~

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he could massage the tension out of his body. It never seemed to work, but at least it gave him something to do with his hands. The elegant gold buffed elevator doors _dinged_ open and the perpetually smiling bellhop rolled the cart of luggage out. Cullen motioned for Elena to go ahead of him, keeping his hand lightly on the small of her back. He could feel her stiff response of surprise for the briefest of moments, before she relaxed to his touch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The private flight to Kirkwall hadn’t been long, so he and Elena had managed to talk around the bronto in the room, as it were. Instead, they’d gone over their cover and itinerary. Since they’d both lived in Kirkwall for an extended period of time, there was no point in using aliases. While this put Elena at risk of showing up on her father’s radar, Leliana had been confident that they could anticipate any move he might make against her, and besides, they still didn’t know if he already knew where she was. Cullen couldn’t forget that she had been under surveillance before Inquisition was attacked, and they still didn’t know who was behind it.

Their cover was as simple as it was torturous. They were to pose as an engaged couple looking to move to Kirkwall. He was an architect interested in restoring the city after the destruction of Meredith’s political coup, and she represented a housing charity that was looking to expand its work in the city--which neatly provided them their reason for being at the gala the next evening.

As the bellhop unlocked the door to the suite with a little flourish, Cullen reflected that this must be a particularly corner of hell. He was back in a city he hand promised he’d never return to, all the while having to pretend to be in love with the most beautiful woman he’d ever met who had also lied egregiously to him and betrayed his trust. His emotions were so tangled up Cullen couldn’t tell which way was up anymore.

What an absolute clusterfuck. He’d never missed lyrium more.

“As you can see Mr. Rutherford, this is one of our nicest suites, with a beautiful view of the Sea.”

Cullen glanced around the plush living room and small dining area with disinterest. The alarming white and gold color scheme coupled with the bright afternoon sun reflecting off of the sea below gave him a headache.

With a nod, he tipped the man, “please put the luggage in the bedrooms. Lady Trevelyan’s things in the west room, mine in the east.”

“Right away, Ser.”  

He had insisted on a suite with two bedrooms--Cullen didn’t think throwing them into a situation that required Elena to sleep next to him was going to solve any of their problems. And besides, if anyone asked why an engaged couple weren’t sleeping together, his past as a templar gave them a conservative excuse.

As soon as the bellhop was out of sight, Elena moved away from Cullen’s touch and began walking the length of each room slowly. Occasionally, she knocked her fist lightly against the wall.

“What are you doing?” He asked, voice low so the hotel staff in the other room couldn’t hear him.

She glanced over her shoulder at him with a frown and replied as if it were the most obviously thing in the world, “making a preliminary sweep of the room for interference.”

_Ah._ Their reservations had been made so quickly it was unlikely that anyone had had time to place surveillance equipment inside the walls, so she was looking for bugs cleverly hidden to match the decor.

The bellhop left, and a heavy silence fell over the room. Unable to stand it, Cullen flicked on the large television mounted over the fireplace and sat down on one of the cream colored leather couches. Try as he might to focus on whatever it was that was on the TV, his eyes kept straying to Elena’s slight form as she moved about the room.

“Remind me what our itinerary for the day is,” Elena said without looking at him; apparently she felt this room was clear enough for them to speak.

Still, he phrased his words casually. “I thought perhaps we could take a walk around High Town. I have an old friend who is excited to see us who works near the old Chantry.”

Rather, they were meeting with Commissioner Vallen today, but Elena would understand him. She stopped her pacing and turned him him. “Alright, let me just freshen up and then we can go.”

~*~

The walk through High Town was strange. So many memories of her previous life here came flooding back as she and Cullen ambled through the streets, for all intents and purposes, as a couple in love. He held her hand and made sure to walk closest to the road; he bought her a gelato from a street cart.

_This is what you could have had if you’d only been honest with him._

Elena pushed that thought aside  as they approached the Palace of Justice--newly built out of the ruins of the Viscount’s Keep. Her emotions were an ugly jumble of confusion, and it didn’t help that her mind kept conjuring long buried memories of strolling through High Town holding a different man’s hand.

Elena had met Aveline Vallen briefly before she left Kirkwall, but she wasn’t sure if the woman would remember her. She hoped not--it would make things more simple for them. As they were shown into her small but elegant office, Elena schooled her face into a pleasant mask.

“Cullen, it’s good to see you again,” Kirkwall’s Police Commissioner greeted, offering her hand first to Cullen, then to Elena.

“A pleasure, Aveline,” Cullen rejoined. “This is my fiancee, Elena Trevelyan.”

Though the Police Commissioner was well aware that Elena and Cullen were in the city for Inquisition business, but it helped to keep their cover up.

“I’m glad to see you’ve settled down finally.” Aveline raised her eyebrow as she shook Elena’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Trevelyan.”

Aveline motioned for them to sit in a pair of armchairs in front of her desk, as she moved to take her own seat. “What can I do for you? I’m sure you didn’t track me down just to say hello, although I do appreciate it.”

Cullen shifted a bit in his chair, and leaned forward so he could speak quietly. They had agreed on the plane that he would take point when dealing with Aveline since they knew each other. Elena would take point at the gala and dealing with Sebastian. Something she was decidedly not looking forward to. Giving herself a mental shake, she shoved those thoughts aside and focused on the conversation before her.

“As you know from being in correspondence with Vice President Montilyet, we’re here  to discretely follow up on the situation in Kirkwall with the Prince of Starkhaven, and to track down a few leads on a mysterious red substance that has been showing up in the oddest of places.”

Aveline looked nonplussed at the news, but Elena thought that might be just how her face looked.

“You couldn’t have come at a better time. Sebastian Vael is making a play for _Protector of the City_. As for this red stuff, Lady Josephine did mention it, but aside from what you already know, I don’t have much to tell you.”

“We were hoping to deal with both issues at the gala tomorrow night,” Elena cut in.

Aveline frown, “well, unfortunately, it sounds like Vael won’t be attending, though his stooges surely will.”

Elena and Cullen exchanged a look. If Sebastian wasn’t at the party, then they would be going into their meeting with him the day after completely blind. Not only that, but she would have no way of controlling how he would react to her--something Cullen was sure to notice, regardless of how it happened.

“I see,” Cullen finally said. “That is unfortunate, but there is nothing we can do. You’ll still be present at the meeting we’ve arranged?”

Aveline nodded. “You’ll have the police at your disposal if you should need them, and I’ve made it a priority to come to your meeting.”

They chatted for a bit about the rebuilding of the city, and old acquaintances, before an aid politely knocked and informed Aveline of another meeting. They stood and shook hands once again, before they were led out of the complex.

Cullen linked their hands and began strolling along the market. “That was informative.”

Despite his relaxed posture, his tone was clipped. She sighed.

“It was,” a pause to look at a rather lovely arrangement of flowers spilling over someone’s window. “Unfortunate that Prince Sebastian won’t be present.”

“Yes. But we shall deal with it.”

~*~

Cullen glanced at his watch. They needed to be going soon, but Elena had yet to emerge from her room. He found himself standing before the her door, hand raised, before he dropped it back to his side and turned, stalking away towards the window. Pouring himself a tumbler of whiskey from the decanter on the side table, he knocked the drink back to fortify himself before pouring another.

A door clicked open, and Cullen turned, glass halfway to his mouth. Elena stood in the doorway, wreathed in warm golden light. She wore a red silk dress that wrapped around her body, hugging her curves while leaving her shoulders bare. On her feet were gold sparkling heels, and a necklace of gold and emeralds graced her throat. Her thick, auburn hair was plaited around her head in a crown and he clutched a gold purse in one hand.

Cullen was speechless. All his anger, confusion, and betrayal forgotten as he looked at her. She gave him a shy smile, and slowly crossed the room. Elena took the tumbler out of his hand and placed it on the table, before pushing his suit coat off of his shoulders. Cullen stood immobile.

“What--” he cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

She slowly pulled his tie off, her fingers tickling the hollow of his throat as she undid the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “Making sure my fiance looks suitably disheveled to be a man in love.”

Elena turned her attention to his sleeves and carefully began rolling them up to his elbows, first one, then the next. When she was finished, she took a step back and surveyed him. With a nod, she held out her hand to him.

Cullen stared at her long, elegant fingers for a moment, his brain completely blank. Taking a deep breath, he pulled her close, looping their arms together. The warmth of her body pressing against his side was a comfort he hadn’t realized just how badly he missed until that moment.

“Shall we?” she whispered. 

For the first time in a week, Cullen felt a smile tug at his lips, as he led her down to their waiting car.

“Let’s go, sweetheart.”


	14. The Gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brief Mentions of Sexual Assault and Abuse

Elena took a fortifying breath as Cullen guided her up the front steps of the villa. When she’d emerged out of her room half an hour before, she was met with _her_ Cullen, at least for the moment. Gone was the disapproving set of his mouth and the accusing hurt in his eyes. He had looked at her with a softness in his gaze that made her feel like she was beautiful and wanted. It gave her hope, for the first time in a week, that they might move beyond the revelations of her past. Certainly it was more promising that last evening or earlier that day, when they had sat, stiff and unnatural, at opposite ends of the living room to discuss their plans and go over intel for the gala and meeting with Sebastian the day after.

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived; the house glittered above the city and soft colored lanterns bathed the private courtyard in a warm glow. Before Cullen could knock, the door was swung open by a servant in dark maroon livery. Cullen handed over their gold embossed invitation and they were led through the front part of the house to a large foyer which seemed to double as the ballroom. Swaths of colored silk hung from the ceiling and wrapped around columns that lined the edge of the dance floor. On the far side of the room, an elegant double staircase let to a gallery that edged across the room. Beyond the colonnade were tables heaped with food and drink. A a full brass band played music from above.

“Ser Cullen Rutherford of Honnleath escorting Lady Elena Trevelyan of Ansburg,” the servant intoned as they entered the room.

A few people in the crowd turned to look at them, but for the most part, the party continued on.

Elena turned to Cullen with a smile on her face, mindful of any eavesdroppers or onlookers, “why don’t we mingle, darling?”

Cullen nodded, “I’ll fetch you in a half an hour for a dance.”

Reluctantly it seemed, he relinquished her arm. Before she could step away from him, however, he quickly bent and brushed a kiss against her cheek. For a brief moment, she was enveloped in his warm, masculine scent and Elena had to fight to keep her fingers from curling around his shoulders and pulling him close for a real kiss. When he stepped away, he looked slightly flushed and perhaps not a little surprised at himself. With a nod, he stalked away.

Elena watched him go, a small smile spreading over her lips. After a moment, she gave herself a mental shake and glided over to one of the refreshment tables. Surely he had only kissed her to keep up appearances of being engaged. She couldn’t allow herself to think it meant anything, not when she had a job to focus on.

Plucking a flute of champagne from the nearby table, Elena turned and surveyed the dance floor. There were two or three hundred people in attendance–nobles, high ranking bureaucrats, merchants, members of various political factions as well as foreign dignitaries. Cullen would handle any of the Sebastian’s people that were here; she, on the other hand, was looking for one man in particular. Varric’s intel had led them to believe a certain Livius Erimond of Vyranthium was at the center of a trafficking scheme for their mysterious red substance. Dorian had met him while they were both at university, and he had been able to furnish her with an older photo of her mark. As she scanned the crowd, she thought she saw a man fitting his description, and she was just about to set off towards him when a different man appeared before her.

“It isn’t right that a lady of your beauty should be standing along the wall. As the host of the party, I would be remiss if I did not lead you in the next dance.”

Elena looked up, surprised to have garnered the host’s attention so quickly. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and dark, slicked back hair. His jaw was dusted with dark stubble that was not quite long enough to be called a beard, and his eyes were the most peculiar rich, warm shade of brown. She could almost swear they held tones of red.

With a flourish he held out his hand to her and Elena didn’t hesitate to take it. “Thank you, Ser. I do hope I’m not distracting your for your other duties.”

He smiled as he led her to the dance floor just as a jazzy, fast tempo-ed song began. “It is a welcome distraction, beauty.”

They swung easily into foxtrot and fell silent for a moment as they learned each other’s movements and dance styles. 

“At the risk showing myself to be the height of rudeness, I must confess I do not know your name,” Elena said as they glided across the floor with the other couples.

The man smiled at her confession. “No need to worry; I try to keep a low profile at these things.” He paused, to spin her around. “The names Raleigh, Raleigh Samson.”

She smiled, “Elena Trevelyan.”

“Yes, I know,” he said simply.

“Oh?” She asked, one eyebrow raised, her suspicion piqued by his causal knowledge.

Raleigh gave her an enigmatic smile. “I heard you announced. That man with you, Rutherford, he’s a colleague of yours?”

A little shiver raced up Elena’s spine. Were Raleigh’s words just a lucky guess, or did he know more about her and her purpose here than he let on? She wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t involved in Livius’ schemes–the other man was here, after all, in Raleigh’s house. Could they have knowledge of what she and Cullen were doing in the city?

Still, she had to stick to her story, regardless of his motives. “My fiance, actually.”

At her words, she noticed his demeanor changed. While he still smiled,  all the warmth left his eyes, leaving them cold, perhaps even disappointed.“Ah. Such a shame.”

Before Elena could ask what he meant by that, a cultured voice cut between them.

“Samson, I beg your indulgence to let me cut in. I simply must speak with the enchanting beauty in your arms.”

Glancing up, Elena was surprised to find Livius standing next to them. Surely this couldn’t be a coincidence–one or both of them _had_ to know she was up to something, or they wouldn’t have both sought her out. The question was whether Raleigh was part of Livius’ game. Regardless, it would be in her best interest to stick close to Livius, even if he was making it suspiciously easy to do so.

Her dance partner gave her an indulgent smile and a wink before turning towards the other man. “Of course, Erimond. I would be a poor host indeed if I didn’t take the opportunity to make introductions between my guests. This is Lady Elena Trevelyan of Ansburg. Lady Trevelyan, this is Magister Livius Erimond of Vyranthium.”

At his introductions, Raleigh smoothly handed Elena off to Livius. As he walked away from them, however, he paused, his lips at her ear, and whispered, “I’m sure we shall meet again, beauty.”

Elena suppressed an involuntary shiver at his words and plastered a smile across her face for Livius. Their hands clasped and his free hand at her waist, they waded into the crowd of dancers.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Magister?” Elena asked, making sure to look up at him through the fan of her lashes, a coy smile on her lips.

~*~

Cullen tried to stifle his urge to pace as he waited for Elena at the foot of the staircase. He couldn’t find her anywhere along the edge of the room, so she must be dancing–at least, he prayed to the Maker that was what she was doing, and she hadn’t gone off elsewhere in the villa without telling him. He could always call her–his watch and her bracelet held a comm device that was near impossible to hack into, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by talking into his watch, and he didn’t want to leave his post just yet on the off chance she would walk over soon.

He’d been mildly successful with his part of the recon, and he was wondering how they should proceed–if she hadn’t been successful, they could simply call it a night. Something about the villa made his teeth itch, and Cullen was looking forward to being back in their hotel.

He scanned the dance floor again, and relief flooded through him when Elena’s scarlet gown caught his eye. She was dancing with a man who looked quite like Livius. As the music crescendo-ed and the dance ended, Elena pulled away, though the man kept her hand firmly in his. She pointed over to where Cullen was standing, and he felt a strange swell of pride that such a lovely woman as Elena was claiming him as her own. His eyes narrowed, however, when her dance partner pulled her back into his body to whisper something in her ear. With a dark look, he let her go, and she swiftly made her way over to Cullen.

As she got closer, he could see she looked troubled. Almost without thinking of it, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms. Elena stood the tips of her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was only an innocent brush of lips on lips, but it sent a white hot need surging through him. Damn it all to hell, he couldn’t stay away from her, no matter how upset he’d been. At that moment, with the feel of her in his arms and the sweet scent of her in his nose, Cullen vowed to resolve their falling out, though regrettably it would have to wait until they were finished here.

“Is everything well, sweetheart?” He murmured as she pulled away.

“Livius just propositioned me,” she replied, letting her hand rest against his chest.

Cullen glanced up sharply, eyes searching for the Magister, but he had disappeared from his place across from them.

“I’ll kill him,” he growled, his hand tightening over her own where it rested above his heart.

“Calm down, Cullen,” she murmured, glancing around to see if anyone heard him. Stepping out of his embrace, she linked their hands a led him over to a secluded hallway. “I think it might be a good idea for me to take him up on his offer.”

“Absolutely not,” he snapped, his jaw aching from how tightly he clenched his teeth.

Elena frowned up at him, crossing her arms over her breasts. “He’ll be more likely to divulge something in a private setting.”

“And it will be more difficult for me to get to you if you need help,” he pointed out.

“I have done this before you. I can take care of myself.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m well aware of your experience in seducing information out of people, but perhaps I might suggest a different tactic, tonight.”

“Is that what this is about? You’re still angry that I didn’t tell you of my past? When was I supposed to say something, Cullen? ‘ _Do you prefer Chinese or Italian? Oh by the way, my father used to make me suck old man cock for information_.’ That would have gone over well!”

As she spoke, her voice, though still hushed, grew more distressed and red splotches appeared high on her cheeks. Shame burned tight in his gut when he realized tears were gathering in her eyes. 

“Fuck, Elena, I’m sorry,” he murmured, reaching for her.

She shoved his hands away. “Don’t touch me! I understand why you were upset, but I’m sick of being treated like I’m garbage because of my past.”

Cullen ground his teeth in frustration. “I never treated you like garbage!”

She stared at him a beat, as if shocked by his words. 

“Oh really? You’ve barely spoken to me, let alone looked at me all week. And when you did deign to speak to me, it was for snide comments about my untrustworthiness. For fuck’s sake Cullen, you wouldn’t even let me pet your dog!”

They should not be doing this here, of all places, but at her words, he couldn’t stop the anger and hurt that was roiling out of him. 

“I was upset! You lied to me, you lied to everyone at Inquisition. You put us in jeopardy by not divulging your past.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So are you mad that I lied to you as an employee or as your girlfriend?”

“Both Maker dammit! _I trusted you_!” He roared, his anger making him unconcerned with eavesdroppers.

She blinked rapidly to hold back her tears, and he was torn between pushing her away and pulling her close to comfort her. After a moment she shook her head.

“You know what? I trusted you too.” Without looking back she stalked away, leaving Cullen to stare after her.

~*~

 _What a fool I’ve been_ , Elena thought as she made her way through the crowd. To think that Cullen could ever move beyond her past–no, she knew what she’d done was unforgivable, and she was just torturing herself by pretending someone could look past it.

Upon reaching the dance floor, she took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. She scanned the crowd for Livius; it was best to get on with the assignment. The sooner it was over, the sooner she could go back to Skyhold and ignore Cullen–and her broken heart–as much as humanly possible.

When she sighted Livius standing underneath the colonnade, she gave him a cool glance before slipping up the staircase to the gallery above. It was best to contrive to make the man chase her, rather than seem too eager to go to him. From there she knew, a corridor led to private rooms that were discreetly open for guests’ use. 

As she slipped down the corridor without a backwards glance to see that Livius followed, memories long since repressed stirred in the back of her mind. Her first mission for her father had been at a party much like this one. She was to lure an older Arl away from the gathering and get him to divulge information on his recent military movements. She had succeeded, but only after promising to let him lie with her. Elena could still remember the terror that had welled up inside of her when she realized the sedative she had given him wasn’t working as quickly as it should have. In the end, he had passed out on top of her, after roughly fondling her breasts and making her touch his cock. She was only fourteen at the time.

Elena pushed those thoughts away, although she swore the cloying scent of her first victim’s tobacco and booze drenched breath hung in the air. She eased into the room at the farthest end of the corridor, pleased with the lush, red interior. A large bed dominated the room, swathed in red silks and brocades. The only light came from a crackling fireplace that gave off a heady, perfumed scent. Quickly she checked the chilled flutes of champagne before arranging herself on a low chaise lounge in an inviting, alluring position.

She didn’t have to wait long for Livius’ knock, and a moment later he appeared in the doorway.

“I didn’t think your man would let you come,” he said by way of greeting.

Elena smile. “I didn’t tell him. And he shan’t ever find out.”

Livius moved towards her, and sat on the edge of the chaise, boxing her in with his body. She handed him a flute of champagne from the side table.

“I didn’t realize any Magesters would interested in charity work here in Kirkwall,” she began, testing the waters to see what kind of information he would easily divulge.

Livius snorted and took a sip of his drink before setting it down. “One does need to keep up appearances of caring for the common man. Samson’s little party is a good way to do so–we’re business partners in a different venture, you see.”

“Oh?” She asked, raising one eyebrow.

“It’s made us fabulously rich, you know,” Livius grinned. “More so than any architect.”

Elena gave him a cool smile. “I must confess you’ve piqued my interest.”

“Of course I have, my dear. But alas, I am sworn to secrecy,” he paused, and dipped his head close to hers. She could feel his breath on her lips, and she closed her eyes. “But I’m sure you could figure it out. What can one only get from Tevinter?”

Before she could respond, Livius crashed his lips onto hers. He had none of the finesse she’d come to expect from kissing, but rather he was all tongue and teeth. Elena kissed him back readily enough, making a show of easing her legs open to accommodate him. She maneuvered them with skilled nudges until they rolled off the chaise onto the floor. Livius landed with an _oomph_ beneath her. Elena reared up so she straddled him and took a languorous sip of her champagne before handing him his glass.

“A toast to shared pleasure,” she whispered, aware of how alluring she would look in the firelight, eyes gleaming and skin flushed.

Livius’ gaze darkened before he clinked his glass with hers and downed the entire thing in one gulp. She took a sip before setting her glass down and arching over him, cradling his head in her hands. With fervor, she kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip while his hands roamed over her body. As they kissed, his movements became lethargic and soon his hands slipped from her body. After a moment, he stopped kissing her back and Elena leaned away, surveying his sleeping form. She was lucky he was such a gauche drinker, or else she would have had to endure more than a little kissing. She had had just enough time to pour the sedative into his glass before he entered the room.

She quickly dug around his pockets for his cellphone and when she found it she seated herself on the chaise. Livius was an even bigger fool than she thought: he hadn’t even password protected his phone. She quickly scrolled through his contacts until she hit upon a text conversation between Livius and an unknown caller. She would bet good money that the number belong to Raleigh Samson, and that he was smarter than Livius at concealing his hand in whatever scheme they were working on.

[text] LE: new shipment today

[text] ***: Can’t. The gala.

[text] LE: sell at the gala

[text] ***: Too risky. He will not be please.

[text] LE: can’t send them back.

[text] ***: Fine. Bring to subbase before dawn. Keep it quiet.

Elena frowned. _Subbase_? Could it mean a sub-basement? Sneaking around the villa might be a bit more difficult, especially if the sub-basement was concealed, which was most likely. And who was this _he_  that would be displease? Some shadowy leader that Inquisition hadn’t anticipated yet? Filing the information away in her memory for later contemplation, she scrolled through the phone for any other pertinent info, but found nothing. Popping it back into Livius’ pocket, she made quick work of arranging him on the bed so it looked like they had had a tryst and he had fallen asleep after. In a fit of mischievousness, she undid his trousers and rolled him so that his flaccid member flopped onto the bed covers. 

Standing away from the bed, she surveyed the room; there ought to be a servant’s entrance. Sneaking around through the servants’ corridors would make her movement through the house easier. After looking behind a few tapestries, she found the door she was looking for. Easing it open, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The hallway was lit sparsely with wall sconces every few yards, so it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom.

She knew she needed to work her way down. Her best bet was to find the basement and search it until she could find the level below. It might take a long time, but it was the best she could do, given the circumstances. If she could find where Livius was hording his illicit goods–and hopefully, they would be the red stuff Inquisition was after–she could bring Commissioner Vallen into the scene, and perhaps even bring Livius into custody.

Elena carefully made her way through the house, pausing to listen for servants coming her way. She had to hide more than once in a darkened alcove but eventually she made it passed the kitchens into the basement.

The basement was a bigger challenge. Instead of spanning the entire base of the house, there were walls sectioning off parts, which forced Elena to ventured upstairs to find the next passage down. She was slow and methodical as she searched each chamber for a hidden door or latch, but she was beginning to despair. The gala would soon be ending, and she hadn’t completed her mission yet.

As she descended into the final corner of the basement, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. She could hear _something_ , but what she wasn’t sure. Carefully, she made her way through the rooms, poking at each wall sconce, each flagstone that looked just a little off. As she entered the second to last room, she realized she was hearing sobbing.

Livius’ teasing question came back to her. _What can one only get from Tevinter?_

Elena spied a large wardrobe and opened it. Feeling around, the back panel suddenly sprung back, revealing a dark lit room. The sobbing instantly stopped. 

When her eyes adjusted, her blood went cold as ice and she suppressed a cry of distress.

_What can one only get from Tevinter?_

_Slaves._


	15. Aftermath

Cullen suppressed a groan; if he had to force himself to laugh at one more smarmy joke about the _working poor_ , he was going to punch someone. Honestly, if this was what Josephine did all day, how could she stand it? He’d never met Prince Sebastian, except for in passing, but if these were the men who supported him, Cullen was convinced the Prince was a tool of the first order. Not that _he_ really was one to talk.

He took another swig of champagne and ground his teeth. It was nearly two in the morning, surely it was almost time to leave this place. In fact, if he didn’t hear from Elena in the next five minutes, he would go find her and haul her out, accomplished mission or not. Cullen was sick of this place and these people. He was just about to politely back out, when he felt his watch vibrate. Relief flooded through him; quickly making his excuses, Cullen left the group of Sebastian supporters he had been hanging around all night, and headed to a secluded corridor. He twisted a few dials on his watch and a moment later, Elena’s voice crackled into his ear.

“Cullen?”

Cullen froze for a moment as the distressed, shattered tone of her voice reached him. Then his heart shuddered to life, racing as his mind conjured horrible images of what could possible made the fiery woman he know sound so _broken_.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he said quickly, realizing she was waiting for a reply. “Are you hurt?”

“No...no I’m not hurt. I need you to come to the southwest basement.” With that, her comm went silent.

Cursing under his breath, Cullen made a cursory scan of the room to make sure no one was watching him, before he casually made his way towards the far end of the hallway, and then down the basement stairs. All the while his heart was beating double time as he tried to quell his urge to sprint. This could be trap; someone could be holding her hostage to lure him away. She could be hurt, despite assurances otherwise. Images of Elena sprawled in a dirty basement, limbs broken, flashed through his him. 

Cullen walked faster, his teeth aching as he ventured deeper into the villa. As he rounded the corner behind the basement stairs, Elena’s ghost white face suddenly appeared before him. He stopped abruptly, equally unsettled by her sudden appearance and pallid complexion. Relief flooded through him when he realized she was alone. He strode towards her, his hands awkwardly reaching for her, but he stopped himself. The look in her eyes said she didn’t-- _couldn’t_ \--be touched right now.

“What happened?”

She shook her head and it took her a moment to manage to speak. “We need to call Aveline.”

Without explaining further, she led him down a passage. Stepping into a little used storage room, Cullen watched as she went over to a wardrobe tucked into the corner. After a moment, there was a soft click, and the back panel swung open. The unmistakable stench of lyrium hit him, so powerful he almost gagged and the aching of his teeth intensified to a full blown tension headache. Taking a fortifying breath, he peered inside.

“Maker have mercy,” he gasped. Staring back at him were nearly three dozen women-- _girls_ , really. Some looked lucid and fearful while others were slumped over in a drugged stupor. They were all dressed in rags, dirty and bedraggled. Soiled mattresses lined the floor, and heavy chains secured their ankles to the walls. When they saw him looking in, he could smell their fear intensify, and they all huddled away from him as if on instinct.

“They’re sex slaves on the road to Tevinter,” Elena’s flat voice came from behind him. “I think they’ve been given lyrium so they stay docile.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, before taking out his phone and dialing Aveline.

As he relayed the situation to the Police Commissioner, Cullen kept his eyes on Elena. She looked as if she would collapse at any moment, and he hoped the police would arrive soon so he could get her back to the hotel.

Hanging up his phone, he took a step towards her, only to freeze when she flinched at his sudden movements. “We need to get back upstairs in case Livius or anyone else notices we’re missing. Aveline will want to meet with us before she raids the place.”

Elena shook her head, and despite the fear in her eyes, she stood firm before him. “I’m not leaving them.”

He couldn’t stay here; his mouth was already dry and aching for a dose of lyrium. Yet he couldn’t find an easy way of convincing Elena to leave. Against his better judgement, he relented.

“Fine, but stay here and keep quiet. I’ll go upstairs and make ready to meet Aveline.”

Elena nodded, though she still looked shaken. “Keep your eye out for Livius--he should be waking up about now from the sedative I gave him. And he might be angry.”

Cullen nodded, unsure he wanted to know exactly what happened between the woman before him and the Magister. He had seen her going up the stairs, and watched at Livius followed her a few moments after. It had taken all his will power not to go after them. As he turned and made for the door, Elena’s small voice made him stop in his tracks.

“And watch out for Raleigh. I think me might be connected to all this.”

He turned, his mind spinning at who else might possible have that name. “Raleigh?” He asked, trying to keep his voice calm. “Raleigh Samson?” When she nodded he ground his teeth. “He’s _here_?”

“He’s the host of the gala,” she paused, understanding dawning across her face. “You know him.”

Cullen stared, trying to keep his thoughts from spinning out of control. Samson, here. _This isn’t good._ He finally manged to respond to her. 

“Yes. We were templars here in Kirkwall together. He was kicked out of the order and very much addicted to lyrium. If he’s mixed up in this…” Cullen shook his head. “Be careful while I’m gone.”

~*~

Elena paced the small room quietly, struggling to keep her emotions in check. Cullen had been gone for at least half an hour, but she couldn’t manage to stop her pulse from racing nor her hands from shaking. She knew what was going to happen to these girls, or what, Maker help them all, had happened to them already. She knew the terror they would face, the hopelessness, the feelings of worthlessness. She had been lucky, in the end. Maybe these girls would be too.

But how many others were out there just like them? Others she couldn’t save. Hundreds? Thousands?

The despair she’d tried so hard to overcome threatened to well back, smothering her completely. But she couldn’t fall apart just yet--not in front of them. These girls needed her to be strong. She could fall apart, let her despair overwhelm her when she back at the hotel. When she was alone, _so alone that it hurt_.

Steeling her nerves, she entered the room. Some of the girls shrank back, but others looked at her with interest, even hope.

“It’s okay,” she began, her voice still too shaken to sound reassuring. “My friend and I are going to help you. The police are on their way--”

The sound of a gun cocking ended her words. Elena spun around, eyes flaring wide as she spotted Livius standing in the doorway smirking as he aimed a gun at her. Hatred burned in his eyes.

“I’m sorry to inform you, Lady Trevelyan, that everything is decidedly _not_ okay.”

~*~

Cullen met Commissioner Vallen at the foot of the villa’s drive, outside of the gate guard’s line of sight. She had two armored trucks of SWAT teams ready to storm the party. Cullen quickly donned an extra bullet proof vest and took the weapon she held out to him. He wasn’t technically supposed to participate on the raid, but Aveline knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t want to sit on the sidelines.

“Alright men,” Aveline began, speaking to the officers on point who clustered around her. Her comm was up and running, allowing the other men in the van to listen to her orders. “We’ve got a major trafficking situation, slaves and possibly drugs. There’s a party going on in there with some powerful people, so the faster we can get in and get out, without ruffling too many feathers, the better. Do _not_ shoot at the guests unless it is in defense. The women are being held in the subbasement, the quickest way is through the kitchens. I want Donnic and his team to take the ballroom--keep everyone inside and try to find the host, Raleigh Samson, or Livius Erimond.” Images of the men in question flashed across the visors of each officer’s helmet as she spoke. “Those are the only individuals we want to target for arrest. Understood?” She paused, waiting to see if there were any questions. “Alright, move out. Rutherford, with me.”

Aveline made a motion for her team to follow her, and Cullen fell in line.

~*~

Livius stepped further into the room, keeping the gun trained on Elena. Slowly, she sidestepped to the right, trying to keep him from accidentally shooting the girls. The threat of him--to herself and the women behind her--made steel doors slam down in her mind, blocking off her fear and pain. Though her hands were still shaking, and though she was ready to fall apart at any moment, Elena squared her shoulders and gave Livius a taunting smile.

“Livius, it’s wonderful to see you awake. I thought you would be out for the rest of the night.”

“I bet you did, you bitch,” he snarled.

“There’s really no need for that,” she said, eyes flicking down to his gun before returning to his face. “I’m sure we can discuss whatever it is you’re angry about like civilized people.”

“ _Civilized_? There’s nothing civilized about this Maker forsaken city. Or any of you fucking Marchers. Barbarians the lot of you. I sooner I get back to the Tevinter, the better. Now, on that note, get into the room.” He motioned her with his gun.

Elena raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You heart me, princess. Get your ass in the room with the girls. Nice and easy.”

Elena frowned, silently calculating how quickly she could be across the room to him before he had a chance to shoot her. She didn’t like her odds, unfortunately. With an easy smile, she nodded and held her hands up in front of her. “Alright, Livius.”

Slowly she eased her way towards the hidden room. Stepping carefully into the wardrobe she stopped.

Livius eyed her, clearly looking for some sort of deception. “Good, now chain yourself up.”

She bit back the urge to argue with him, and the panic that was pounding against the steel doors in her mind at the thought of purposely restraining herself in this man’s presence. When she didn’t move quickly enough for his liking, Livius dashed forward and snatched a handful of her hair. Yanking her down, he threw her onto one of the mattresses.

“Do it!” He yelled, his face a livid shade of red as he shook the gun in her face.

He was close enough, she could grab the gun. But Elena was afraid it might go off and accidentally hit one of the girls. She had to wait. Easing down onto the dirty mattress, she grabbed a heavy iron cuff and locked it around her ankle. It would limit her movement, but keep her hands free to defend herself, hopefully.

Livius looked like he was about to say something--no doubt gloat some more--when a loud crash from upstairs reverberated through the ceiling.

“What the fuck was that?”

Elena allowed herself a smile. “If I had to wager, I would say it’s Police Commissioner Vallen raiding the villa.”

Her words enraged him; Livius pounced on her, yanking her hair with one hand as he held the gun to her temple. “I should kill you now. Paint the walls of this place with your brains.”

Elena glared up at him. “Do it,” she hissed. “Do it and show me how much of a man you are. Killing a woman you couldn’t even chain up yourself.”

“Livius!” The word cracked through the air, making the man before her tense. “Enough! We must go.”

Behind Livius’ shoulder, Elena spied Raleigh Samson, his face white with rage. “Leave the girl and we go now or I’ll leave you behind.”

Looking as if the actions physically pained him, Livius drew back, away from her. He turned to go, but whirled around so quickly her eyes couldn’t track him. Pain slammed through her head as the butt of his gun connected with her temple, and everything went black.

~*~

Cullen held his gun down as he stalked next to Aveline through the murky basement corridor. The guests had been detained above, and the servants as well, but Donnic had been unable to locate either Livius or Samson. It made him unease--every shadow could be one or both of them, ready to fire on their small group of police. They were nearing the room where the girls were kept, each step bringing the alluring scent of lyrium. Cullen ground his teeth. He hated this, hated how weak it made him to want so badly his body hurt. He’d worked hard to overcome the cravings, but he knew he would never truly be rid of them.

They rounded the corner and entered the storage room that held the hidden door. His heart thundered to a painful stop in his chest as his eyes swept the room and found it empty. Where was Elena? Had Livius or Samson taken her? Had she been hurt? The combination of his anxiety and the ache of lyrium made sweat break out on his brow, and Cullen struggled to keep his hands from shaking. _If anyone hurt her_ …

Aveline glanced at him before waving her men into the room. They approached the hidden door slowly, mindful of anyone who might be lying in wait. His eyes fell on Elena’s prone form the moment she came into view. Cullen immediately holstered his weapon and went to her, ignoring the women and soldiers around him. She lay unmoving on one of the mattresses, crimson blood pooling out of a cut on the side of her face and mingling with her fiery hair.

“Elena!” He called, shaking fingers feeling for a pulse.

At his touch, her eyes fluttered open slowly. She frowned, bringing a hand to her head. “Cullen? What...where am I?”

“Thank the Maker,” he mumbled, his mind flashing back to the first time he’d found her unconscious and bloody, when he’d rescued her from the ruin of the Temple in Haven. “You’re in Kirkwall, remember? At the gala?”

Her frown deepened a moment before she nodded, her open gaze suddenly shuttering closed as the shock and horror of the night came back to her. “Right.” She pulled back from him slightly, and pushed  herself up on shaking legs, bracing an arm against the wall. “Uncuff me, please.”

It took longer than Cullen would have liked to get things settled with the police. By the time Aveline had searched the entire building and grounds for Livius and Samson--both of whom were nowhere to be found--and helped situate the girls in terms of medical care and temporary housing, it was nearly four in the morning. The entire time, Elena hadn’t lost the haunted look on her face. He had suggested more than once that they could leave, but she refused to go until all the girls were taken care of.

When they finally returned to their suite, the sun was beginning to rise over the sea. There meeting with Sebastian and his people wasn’t until the afternoon, so hopefully the would both be able to catch some sleep before they had to being prepping. He glanced at the woman next to him. She had her arms wrapped around her waist, folding into to herself. Blood still matted her hair, but she’d scrubbed most of it off her face. Before he could say anything, Elena stumbled off to her own room, and shut the door behind. Cullen sighed, and ran his hands through his hair. He could tell she was really upset, but he couldn’t figure out a way to address it. Or how to broach his apology.

Their fight earlier had been an eye opening experience, and he realized now how unnecessary some of his behavior had been. Yes, he was upset and hurt by her deception, but the line between personal and professional had been blurred; as his girlfriend, she had every right to choose when and how she would divulge painful parts of her past to him. As her boss, he needed to trust his coworkers had a handle on the situation, and that he would have been notified if her past ever became a threat to Inquisition. Deep down, Cullen knew she was right, he shouldn’t have treated her the way he did. He needed to apologize--no, he _wanted_ to apologize, to move past the hurt.

With a heavy sigh, he acknowledged that right this moment was probably not the best time. He made his way to his bedroom, snagging a decanter of whiskey on his way. Closing the door, he could hear the shower running in their shared bathroom, evidence enough of where Elena had gone when she retreated into her room. Cullen poured himself a drink and stripped off his vest and shoes. He was about to undo the fly of his trousers, when he heard a loud crash from the bathroom. Muttering an oath, he sprang towards the door, only to find it locked from inside.

“Elena!” he pounded on the wood hard enough to make the door vibrate. “Elena are you okay?”

If she replied, he couldn’t hear it over the running water.

“Elena open the door!” He called again, shaking the handle as if he could force it to unlock.

A moment passed and no reply came. “I’m coming in!”

With a curse, Cullen stepped back and kicked the door in. It _banged_ off the wall, a small part near the lock exploding in a shower of splinters. The room was filled with thick steam, but he could hear the soft sounds of crying over the shower now. He made his way into the room, checking first the bathtub then the shower. The glass walls were fogged up, so he pushed the door open. Elena sat in nothing but her undergarments in the far corner, hugging herself with her knees drawn up to her chest. Sobs wracked her body, even as she looked up at him with huge, teary eyes. A brilliant coil of blood ran down her body and swirled into the drain.

Ignoring the scalding water, Cullen reached into the shower and lifted her into his arms. She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. With another sob, she buried her face into his neck. Gently, Cullen set her on the marble countertop and quickly shut off the water before grabbing a towel. When he returned to her side, she locked her legs around his hips again and encircled her arms around his neck. Cullen held her, for how long, her wasn’t sure, it could have been an hour, or perhaps only a few minutes. Slowly her tears stopped and the violent sobs that wracked her body subsided. 

Gently, he pulled himself away just enough that he could begin to pat her dry with the towel. She hissed when he accidentally grazed the cut on her face.

“Please talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmured, draping the terry cloth around her shoulders.

She was silent for a long moment, and Cullen worried that perhaps she had retreated too far into herself to speak. He was just about to try to coax her to speak again, when she finally opened her mouth. 

“He made me chain myself up while he waved a gun in my face,” she gave a sharp bark of laughter. “What a fucked up metaphor for my life.”

Elena squeezed her eyes shut as if fighting off tears. With a heavy sigh, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “Twice last night I felt like the terrified fourteen year old girl I used to be. I hate it, Cullen. It was...my father...I thought he loved me. A parent should love their children, right? But he just... _used_ me. I’m not sure I know what love is.”

Cullen stood silently as he listened, one big hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing slow circles on her back. If he had to guess, this flood of emotion and memory was a long time coming. His heart broke for her, and he wished he could go back in time and save her. Find that scared child and bring her into the light.

After a moment, Elena drew back, and cupped his cheek. “I need to tell you about Kirkwall.”

“Elena you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to.” He said gently.

She shook her head, “no, I’ve danced around this long enough. You need to know, and I think I need to tell it.”

Cullen regarded her for a moment, trying to read the emotions swirling behind her emerald gaze. With a nod, he scooped her into his arms and returned to his bedroom. Foregoing the bed, he sat them down in an overstuffed armchair, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist. Elena maneuvered so that she sat across his lap and could look into his eyes. She searched his face, finally giving him a weak smile.

“I want to tell you about my past so that--I mean, if you’d like--we could move forward with...with us.”

Cullen’s breath caught as her words registered. Could it be that even after his deplorable behavior she still wanted something between them? He captured her hand and brought it to his chest, holding her palm flat over his heart.

“I would like that, sweetheart. But before you start, I need to say, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was an unbelievable ass. Can you ever forgive me?”

Her gaze softened at his words. “I think after what I tell you, we need to forgive ourselves first. But yes, Cullen. I forgive you.” 

Though her words brought him joy, her voice was sad.

After a moment, she cleared her throat. “My father sent me to Kirkwall to help legitimize his power in the Free Marches. I mentioned earlier that he had build up quite an empire of information and blackmail, but he wanted more. My brother William was climbing the Templar ranks in Val Royeaux, and my brother Henry had married well, but my father wanted something more concrete. So, he sent me to the chantry in Kirkwall as an uninitiated sister, with the promise that if I were not wed by the time I was twenty-five, I would officially join. My father had no intentions of me joining the Chantry permanently. Rather, he wanted me there so I could ensnare a husband who could deliver wealth and authority to my father.” She paused, as if marshaling her courage for the next bit of the story. “My father sent me to Kirkwall to seduce Sebastian Vael and become Princess of Starkhaven. After the wedding, my husband would have soon have found himself dead, and my father would have come to help the desolate widow rule her principality.”

“Andraste’s fiery knickers,” Cullen murmured, despite himself. 

No wonder she always insisted the Prince wouldn’t want to see her; if her father’s plan was even marginally successful, there was a lot of bad blood there.

A few silent tears rolled down her cheek. “We became engaged, but I couldn’t do it, Cullen.” She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I fell in love with him. So I fled. You know the rest.”

Cullen felt the sharp blade of jealousy slice through his chest. _I fell in love with him_. 

He couldn’t stop the words that fell from his lips. “Do you still love him?”

She was silent for a long moment, mulling over his words. 

“I...I don’t know. I think a part of me will always love him. But I don’t have romantic feelings for him anymore,” she confessed, her voice small and limbs stiff as if she expected him to dump her out of his lap.

Cullen’s mind reeled. In just a few hours they would have to face the man in question. _Maker, I’m too tired for this._

“Thank you for telling me, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We should probably try to get some sleep.”

She nodded, her body relaxing as she let him carry her over to his bed. He set her down gently, before stripping off his trousers and  now damp dress shirt, so he was only wearing his boxers. Carefully, he slid under the covers and switched off the light. The blinds were closed, cutting out the cheery light of dawn. With a soft exhale, he draped one arm around her waist and pulled her close, snuggling into the heat of her body. It felt right, he realized, to finally hold her in his arms again. Elena must have felt the same, way, because soon she relaxed in his arms. Cullen was almost asleep when he felt her shift, rolling so that she could look at him over her shoulder.

“Cullen,” she whispered, sounding as if she both hoped and feared that he was still awake. “I just want you to know you’re the only man I’ve ever had sex with. Willingly or otherwise.”

In response, he hugged her tighter, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, before drifting off to sleep.


	16. The Prince of Starkhaven

Though she could have slept for another week at least, it seemed, waking up in Cullen’s arms had been perhaps the best morning she’d ever had. Even thinking of it now made a peculiar warmth spread through her body, a contentment she’d hadn’t felt since–well, for a very long time indeed. She felt _safe_ with his arm slung around her waist, the other pillowing her head. She had been able to feel the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart against her back. It was comforting, and intimate in a way she’d not encountered before. It brought back the fleeting memories of their first night together, and the few spare moments she’d allowed herself to lie awake in his bed, listening to his deep breathing before she had fled. In those moments, she had pretended that she didn’t have to leave, that everything was fine and this was just another morning waking up with her lover. **  
**

Elena stared at her reflection in the mirror, slowly blending her foundation and cover up over the worst of Livius’ parting gift. The purple-green color spread up side of her forehead and down her cheek, with an angry red scab at the center. It was a miracle she didn’t have a black eye, all things considered. After a moment of consideration, she decided things were as good as they were going to get–she wouldn’t be able to hide the cut anyway. Fussing with her hair, she tried to cover what her makeup couldn’t. Growing up in her father’s household had unfortunately given her the right skills to mask almost any injury from a less discerning gaze.

Hearing the rap of knuckles on wood, she turned to find Cullen standing in the doorway.

“Almost ready to go? I believe the car’s being brought round,” he smiled softly, though she couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes drifted to her forehead, concern clear on his face.

She gave him a tentative smile. “Sure, let me grab my bag.”

Glancing once more at her reflection to make sure she hadn’t missed any glaring purple splotches, she headed for her room and snatched up her bag from the desk. Maybe, just maybe, she could have more mornings like this–where she could just lie in Cullen’s arms and not have to worry about her life, or the fate of the world.

Last night had been awful in so many ways but also cathartic. She’d been able to let go of her emotions for the first time in a long time, and somehow instead of causing a catastrophe, it had helped. She’d moved forward with Cullen, and she felt so much better having unburdened the guilt of her life before fleeing Kirkwall.

Cullen placed his hand on the small of her back as he ushered her out of the hotel and towards the waiting car. She liked the heat of his hand on her there, just above the curve of her bottom, and she was startled to realize she had missed him touching her, even as innocently as this, while they had been fighting. She slid in first, and Cullen followed, before signalling to the driver that they were ready to go. The car started forward, a smooth ride save for the rough cobbled streets beneath the tires. As the hotel slipped away, she tapped down on the glowing feeling this morning had created, and instead fixed her expression into the polite, blank look that served her so well in business dealings.

As the car rumbled across town, they went over the final strategy of their negotiations. Elena would be taking a backseat initially, and Cullen, in his capacity as Commander of Inquisition, would try to work through negotiations with Starkhaven. Elena was only there in a support role–to cool hot tempers and soothe ruffled feathers if necessary. And of course, to distract Sebastian.

“Remember, we don’t want to threaten military intervention unless absolutely necessary; Inquisition’s spread too thin as it is,” Elena reminded Cullen as she went over Josephine’s most recent email.

She wiggled in her seat, angling herself towards him so that she could put some of her notes on the seat between them.

“I know, I just wish I knew how Sebastian is going to react to seeing you. Josephine certainly gambled sending you here,” he grumbled, and Elena wondered if there might not be a hint of jealousy in his voice.

In all honesty, she was nervous about seeing Sebastian again–not only nervous about how he would react, but what feeling seeing him again might dredge up. Elena wasn’t sure she could handle anymore emotional turmoil this week.

Cullen gave her knee a gentle squeeze. “I have every confidence that you’ll be able to handle this, though. I know I don’t have to worry about your ability to do your job.”

She gave him a shy smile his words filling her with reassurance. “Thanks, Cullen.”

He was about to say something else, when the car came to stop outside another elegant villa near the newly rebuilt Chantry. The driver opened the door, and they slid out. A bright-faced young page dressed in smart Sarkhaven livery met them at the bottom of the marble steps.

“Welcome, Lady Trevelyan, Commander Rutherford. His Highness awaits you in his office. Commissioner Vallen wished to send word that in light of last night’s situation, she would not be able to make it this afternoon, but she trusts that you will represent Kirkwall’s position admirably. Now, if you would please follow me.”

The villa was sparsely decorated, each touch carefully chosen. Most of the art reflected either Starkhaven history or Chantry figures; it seemed Sebastian had made himself at home while he pursued his political gains. But just how far was he willing to go to accomplish his goals? He was supposed to have been at the gala last night, did that mean he was in league with Raleigh or Livius? And if so, how much did he know about his partners’ more unsavory activities?

As they made their way through the brightly lit corridors, trepidation coiled tight in her stomach. What would Sebastian do when he saw her? What if he threw her out without listening to them? It was no more than she deserved. Although if he _were_ aware of Livius’ trafficking operation, she wasn’t sure she would be able to look at him, much less conduct their negotiations.

Suddenly she felt Cullen’s warm hand enveloped hers. “Deep breaths, sweetheart. It’ll be okay.”

She nodded and squeezed his hand back before letting go. How was it that he could read her so well? Usually she was much better at schooling her emotions. But in truth, she didn’t mind Cullen’s perceptiveness; it was comforting to know someone else was looking out for her.

The page knocked thrice on a dark paneled door before pulling it open and motioning for them to enter. Cullen stepped forward, and after she took a deep, fortifying breath, Elena followed.

~*~

_Elena stepped into the Chantry, letting the familiar scent of incense and sound of the Chant wash over her. The warm afternoon sunlight filtered through the high, stained glass windows plunging the world into warm, riotous light. It was bigger than the chantry in Ostwick, to be sure. Her research had found that it was second only to the Great Cathedral in Val Royeaux. Row after row of purple cushioned pews lined the great space, with smaller chapels jutting off to the side. Even now, when there was no service going on, a dozen or so people–lay and cleric alike–milled around the great space._

_“Come along, Novice Elena, the Grand Cleric is waiting,” Sister Patrice scolded._

_Turning towards the stern sister, Elena hurried along, bowing her head to appear contrite. She was led through the great chamber, past the massive gold statue of Andraste–who looked at her with such a knowing glare, Elena almost worried that Grand Cleric Elthina knew what wickedness she was here for–back to more private quarters._

_The architecture was plainer back here, where the congregation of Kirkwall would rarely go. The administrative and residential parts of the Chantry were a maze of corridors and housing blocks. As they made their way to the Grand Cleric’s office, Elena mapped their route, filing in her mental sketch of the compound as quickly as possible. Finally they came to a stop before a plain wooden door that had nothing to denote who resided on the other side. Elena thought she heard raised voices through the thick wood._

_Sister Patrice raised her hand to knock, but the door flew open before she could land the blow. The elder Sister lept back, knocking into Elena who had stood her ground despite the surprise. She stumbled back, losing her footing in the unfamiliarly long chantry robes. Before she could go crashing to the ground, strong hands settled around her waist, jerking her up._

_“Easy there, lass. My apologies for startlin’ you.”_

_She looked up, surprised at how thick his brogue was, despite having read about it in his dossier. Oh yes, she had known Sebastian Vael would be in the office just now–who else would open the door with such impatience and energy in the placid Chantry? Who else would be in there, arguing with the Grand Cleric, except for the dispossessed Prince? She banished all traces of recognition from her face, masking her surprised at his brogue to project that she knew of him not at all._

_A demure but flirty comeback, crafted to just piqued his interested, died on her lips as she raised her eyes to his face. Maker, his picture didn’t do him justice. Those eyes–bluer than the Waking Sea. A girl could lose herself completely in eyes like that._

_His eyes crinkled in a smile, revealing laugh lines deep in his tanned skin, as if he realized why she was struck silent. Behind them, Sister Patrice cleared her throat, and much to Elena’s genuine disappointment, Sebastian release her._

_“My apologies again, Sister,” he murmured with a little bow and the hint of a cheeky grin._

_She watched him go, watched the sunlight glint off rich red and gold tones hidden in his dark hair. Maker, this mission might just be more enjoyable that she thought._

~*~

“Welcome, Knight-Captain, tis a pleasure to meet with you,” she heard Sebastian say.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Cullen returned. “It’s Commander, now actually.”

“My sincere apologies.”

She stepped into the room; warm afternoon sunlight filtered through a bank of windows across the door, momentarily shrouding the room in blinding light. Elena blinked, her eyes adjusting, seeking out that so familiar figure.

When she was finally able to see, she was not surprised to discover Sebastian standing besides Cullen, their hands clasped in a firm handshake. She took a moment to appreciate the dashing figures they cut as they stood side by side. Cullen was perhaps an inch or so shorter, but his shoulders were broader. Sebastian on the other hand was taller, and more slender, though Elena knew from experience that his build was thanks to lean, compact muscles, rather than skinniness. The contrast in their coloring–Cullen’s rosy, pale skin and blond curls next to Sebastian’s burnished gold skin and dark, rich hair–made their differences more pronounced, but somehow complementary. Both men were so different, yet equally as handsome. She must have made some sound, because both men turned to her. She felt her breath catch as she was struck, once again, by the brilliance of Sebastian’s gaze. He hadn’t changed much at all in the three years since she’d seen him–perhaps there was a bit more weariness around his mouth, and perhaps his eyes didn’t sparkle as they once might have, but he was still devastatingly handsome.

His most charming smile fixed upon his face, Sebastian dropped Cullen’s hand and moved towards her.

“Lady Elena Trevelyan,” he purred. “A pleasure to see you again, truly.”

“Prince Sebastian,” she murmured, hold her hand out to him.

Instead of shaking her hand as he had Cullen’s, Sebastian cradled it between both of his and pulled her close. Dipping his head, he placed a gentle kiss against her cheek. The touch was soft, only the barest hint of lips to skin, but it brought a flood of emotions welling up in her chest. He was always so gentle with her, like she’d break if he was too rough. Unfortunately, this time, thanks to Livius, even the most gentle of touches _was_ too rough, and Elena flinched as Sebastian’s lips skimmed against her bruised flesh.

Sebastian stilled at her reaction, and pulled away,  sharp eyes narrowing as he zeroed in on the ugly bruise across her cheek and temple, Emotions warred across his angular face–surprise, concern, anger. The force of his feeling nearly sucked all the air from the room, and she struggled to breath at his nearness. His touch soft, Sebastian tilted  her chin and pushed her hair back, revealing to the light the nasty bruise and cut Livius had left her.

“Who did this to you, Elena-lass?” Sebastian’s voice was soft, but with an edge of menace which promised pain on those responsible. A shiver snaked down her back as the warm, familiar timbre of his voice washed over her.

As the moment stretched between them, Cullen cleared his throat, startling them apart. She wanted to look to Cullen, to see how he was handling another man touching her so intimately just a few feet from him but she knew she would give too much away by doing so. Sebastian couldn’t know they were together, or it would undermine Josephine’s entire reason for sending Elena to Kirkwall.

Very gently, Elena pushed his hands away. “Livius Erimond– you know him, yes? Well, he hit me in the face with a gun last night.”

A flash of hurt curled across his face for the briefest of moments before his expression went white with anger.

“Livius Erimond is no’ my friend,” Sebastian spat.

“Are you sure, Your Highness?” Cullen cut in, his voice holding a tad more censure than usual. “He has been proved to be working with Raleigh Samson, the man whose gala you were to attend last night, and which was attended by a number of your most ardent supporters.”

Sebastian reeled back, turning his attentions to Cullen for the first time since she had entered the room. The two men eyed each other, gaining an estimation of the other’s worth.

“You’ll find, Commander Rutherford, that politics often makes strange bedfellows for its players.”

“So you did work with Livius,” Cullen pressed.

Sebastian held Cullen’s gaze for a moment, perhaps trying to convince his adversary of his innocence through willpower alone. Yet Elena couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw clenched, as if he were grinding his teeth; clearly Sebastian was feeling guilty about something.

Sebastian sighed and retreated back to his desk. He took a seat and motioned for them to be seated in the overstuffed armchairs across from him. Elena glanced at Cullen before doing so, curious to see his reaction to Sebastian, but the usually stoic Commander was once again in control of his emotions. When they were settled, Sebastian pressed a button on his intercom and ordered refreshments for them. Silence descended on the room, as both sides waited for the other to speak first.

“I hardly dared believed it when they told me you were in the city,” Sebastian finally said, speculation and hope dancing in his bright gaze. “I did no’ think to see you again.”

Elena felt a stab of pain deep in her chest; when she left, she had left him with naught but a short note. “Sebastian–”

The door opened cutting off her words as a somberly dressed maid entered wheeling in a trolley laden with food and tea service. Elena heard a soft sigh from Cullen as the tension between her and Sebastian eased out of the room. The maid bustled around for few minutes, getting everyone situated with a cup of tea or coffee and a plate of sandwiches and other light snacks. As she backed out of the office, Cullen leaned forward towards the Prince, catching the other man’s attention which had otherwise not strayed from Elena.

“Your Highness, Inquisition has been asked to intervene with you at the request of Police Commissioner Vallen on behalf of the people of Kirkwall . Your aggressive tactics to seize political control of the city has led to violence and civil unrest, and furthermore, the men you associate with have exacerbated the problems of  human and elven trafficking and the lyrium drug trade. The people of Kirkwall and Commissioner Vallen request that you withdraw your troops from the city, and if you must stay to press your political suite, that you do so through the proper channels established in Kirkwall’s constitution.”

Sebastian’s gaze turned cool and calculating as he took in Cullen’s words. “Those are verra serious charges, Commander.”

“It is a very serious matter, Your Highness,” Cullen countered.

“I only seek to make this city more safe,” the Prince murmured. “To join it with Starkhaven and make at least a good part o’ the Free Marches a haven where no one has to fear bein’ hunted, or bein’ forced into businesses in which they wish no’ to take part.”

As he spoke, his eyes slid back to where Elena was seated next to Cullen, and he gave her a small smile. His words shot through her and she felt a tremor of unease–could he know about her past? About her father? All she had said when she left was she was sorry and it was for his own protection. Surely that wasn’t enough to go on. Yet, his words seemed especially meant for her.

Cullen cleared his throat, interrupting her wild thoughts.

“Be that as it may, ser, you are in breach of local, international, and chantry law. The nobles, burghers, and Chantry officials of Kirkwall have a constitutional right to elect their Viscount in the event that there is no clear successor.”

Silence hung heavy in the room at Cullen’s accusation, and Elena could see the irritation mounting behind Sebastian’s neutral expression.

“I’m no’ a _ser_ , Commander,” Sebastian said sharply as his gaze snapped back to Cullen. “I am the Crown Prince o’ Starkhaven and the Lord o’ Vael. And even if I flout half a hundred laws, what can Inquisition do? You are a ragtag mercenary firm with only a tenuous hold on legitimacy.”

Cullen’s expression darkened though Elena couldn’t tell if his fury was over Sebastian’s chastisement or his audacity to throw Inquisition’s threats back in their face. Before he could reply however, she pulled several large photographs from her bag and laid them on the table between them, redirecting the attentions of both men. One photo was of the girls they had discovered the night before, taken by Aveline’s investigators as part of evidence against the slavers, one was of the derelict neighborhood surrounding a lyrium processing house in Darktown, and the third was of a group of protesters being forced into submission by Starkhaven soldiers in the crowded, narrow streets of Lowtown.

“Sebastian,” she began, her voice soft to draw away his anger. “However noble your intentions may be, the men you employ to garner you results are doing so in a way that besmirches your honor and credibility. The people of Kirkwall are not necessarily opposed to being ruled by you, but they are opposed to being ruled with an iron fist. Will you not at least rethink your aggressive strategy? That is all we ask.”

Sebastian studied the photos, his brow furrowed as he contemplated her words. After a moment, he looked back up, glancing between the two of them. “There’s nothin’ to say these things are happenin’ because o’ me. Kirkwall has always been a hotbed o’ civil unrest, rampant lyrium abuse, and questionable ties to Tevinter. Some even go as far as to say the city is cursed. Surely you both remember that from your time here.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Elena saw Cullen’s hand flex into a fist against his thigh, no doubt in response to unwelcome memories that Sebastian’s words conjured up. As for herself, she struggled to keep a well of emotions in check–her time in Kirkwall had been one of the darkest of her life, and it hurt that he would remind her of that to gain the upper-hand in their negotiations

“Sebastian, Raleigh Samson and Livius Erimond were caught red handed smuggling girls to Tevinter last night!” Elena started, she knew she shouldn’t raise her voice, but how could he sit there and not take responsibility for what was happening? Especially if she understood his words correctly, and he knew what happened to her. “They were drugged, and beaten, and left in their own filth in the dark. Some of the girls were twelve years old!”

Sebastian looked startled by her outburst for a moment, before he schooled his expression into gentle concern.

“And I’m verra sorry that such a thing happened. And you have my word that I will see to it that the girls are taken care of before they are returned home. But it was no’ of my doing. Erimond and Samson are no’ my associates.”

“It doesn’t matter if it was of your doing or not,” she snapped. “If you want to rule this city, you need to stop such things from happening, instead of denying your involvement and looking the other way!”

She could feel both men staring at her, but she refused to feel ashamed of her outburst. If Sebastian wanted to rule, he had better start acting like it. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her feelings back, and concentrated on the task at hand.

“Please excuse my outburst, Your Highness, but the truth of my words remain.”

He gave her a searching look, before nodding.

Cullen spoke then, returning their attention to the issues before them. His voice was calm, but Elena could see his firsts knotted against his thighs. “Lady Trevelyan is right. Surely you must concede that your presence has exacerbated these problems.”

“Must I? Must isn’t a word to be used with princes, Commander,” Sebastian censured.

Elena felt like screaming. At this rate, Ferelden would fall into the sea before they came to a conclusion. Both men were too proud to back down, and Sebastian too convinced that he was doing the right thing.

Before she could say anything to try to steer the conversation back to more fruitful grounds, Sebastian spoke. “I’ll consider the merits o’ your words, but I wish to speak with Lady Trevelyan first, _alone_.”

Elena could feel the gazes of both men burning into her. Cullen to see if she was comfortable with the Prince’s request, and Sebastian to see how welcome his request might be. 

Making a snap decision, she looked to Cullen and gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Bowing stiffly to Sebastian, Cullen turned to her and gave her a curt nod, though he looked as if he wanted to squeeze her shoulder, or perhaps touch her cheek. “I’ll await you in the car, Elena.”

She nodded and watched him leave, before turning back to the man she had almost married.


	17. One Step Backwards, Two Steps Forwards

Cullen stood outside Prince Sebastian’s fine villa, cursing the fact that he never took up smoking. If ever there was a time he wanted a cigarette, it would be now. He had told Elena he would wait for her in the car, but he was too antsy, too anxious to sit in one confined place. So instead, he began to pace.

Sebastian was still in love with Elena–it was about as difficult to see as a pride demon. And she, well, she had said it all last night: _I think a part of me will always love him_. With a sigh, Cullen sat down on a marble balustrade and raked his fingers through his hair. What could he offer her that a prince couldn’t? He had no fine villas, no sure sense of his place in the world. He was the son of a Fereldan farmer, a lyrium addict, for Andraste’s sake.

He stood up again and began to pace along the terrace. What on Thedas was taking so long? He had half a mind to march back into that office and carry Elena out over his shoulder–not that he thought such strong-armed tactics would win him any favors. No, she was made for finer things. Reaching the end of the terrace, he turn on his heel and marched back the way he came.

But dammit, he didn’t want to give her– _them_ –up not now, when he’d only just gotten her back. As the thought struck him, Cullen squared his shoulders. Elena was still with him–surely one afternoon hadn’t changed that–and he would do everything in his power to show that while he may not have a title or hold the rule of a city-state, he could make sure she never wanted to for love.

_Love_. He paused as the word slipped through his mind. Did he love Elena? Surely it was too soon, their relationship too new. But Maker, he had spent the last three years aching for her. Cullen shook his head. Best not to think of it now.

With a wry smile on his lips, he headed for the car to wait until Elena was finished meeting with the Prince. Though they still had a number of leads to tie up in the city, he had a mind to take the evening off. Surely they deserved a night of relaxation.

~*~

The door closed behind her with a soft _snick_ , and Elena turned to face Sebastian. He was looking at her with a calculating gleam in his brilliant eyes, and she wondered when he would reveal his hand. She met his gaze, willing to wait him out, make him speak first, since it was his idea to speak privately.

After a moment, Sebastian stood and walked over to a sideboard where a set of crystal decanters held various amber liquors. Dropping ice in two tumblers, he splashed what she assumed was scotch into them before returning to her. Instead of sitting in his chair however, he perched on the edge of his desk in front of her. Wordlessly he handed her a tumbler.

Elena took a drink, letting the bitter liquid roll over her tongue and down her throat. Scotch wasn’t her favorite drink, but she’d trained herself to stomach it with a smile. She set the glass on the floor next to her chair.

“Elena,” Sebastian began, setting his tumbler on the desk next to him after a sip, rolling her name over his tongue as if he savored the flavor of her instead of the drink. “I am sorry, lass, truly, that these things happened under my watch. It was no’ my intent to bring more suffering to this city. Just the opposite.”

Elena frowned as he took her hands in his, this thumbs stroking over her palms. “It’s not me you have to convenience, Sebastian. It’s the people of Kirkwall.”

He smiled at her, a full, cheeky grin that she was used to from their time together years ago. “You never were afraid of tellin’ me what you think.”

She winced. His words were meant to be complementary, but they brought back a well of feelings–feelings she thought she had escaped when she’d turned her back on this city. Indeed, there had been a time when what she she told him was only tangentially the same as what she thought, obscured in riddle upon riddle meant to lure him into her father’s web.  

_”So you’re the new novice Sister,” a teasing voice said from behind her._

_Elena started and let out a little shriek in surprise that he’d actually managed to sneak up on her–a feat not many could boast. Spinning around, she dropped her gaze and let a blush grace her cheeks, though not before she noticed he winced–either at her screech or perhaps guilt for making her do so._

_“I’m sorry, you startled me,” she murmured. “I mean, yes, Ser. I’m the new novice…”_

_There was silence a for a moment, the only sound in the otherwise deserted library the crackle of fire in the hearth. She wondered if she might be laying it on thick. Usually she could gauge her marks, but Sebastian was proving to be something else all together. Just as she was about to beg off and leave the library, retreat and regroup for another day,  she felt gentle fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his._

_“There’s no need to call me ‘ser’, lass. I’m nought but a Chantry brother now.”_

_Elena seriously doubted that he would ever be a simple chantry brother, but she certainly couldn’t say as such. Instead she kept quiet, hoping he would take her lack of response as shyness._

_“What’s your name?”_

_Though he had tipped her chin up, she had kept her gaze lowered. At his question, she raised her eyes to his, and was struck once again just how handsome he was, just how much his picture couldn’t quite represent the reality of seeing him–the bright depth of his eyes, the quiet authority and power that emanated from him._

_“Elena Trevelyan…I suppose Sister Elena now, though.” She frowned, as if the change felt bitter on her tongue._

_Sebastian chucked her under the chin before dropping his hand. “You did no’  wish to join the Chantry?”_

_He certainly was good at ferreting out what was left unspoken, even if she was leading him in a certain direction to begin with. So, he was insightful and walked with a light step. Elena wondered if Sebastian hadn’t been employed in a similar manner as she for his own father before he joined the Chantry…before his family was murdered._

_Elena widened her eyes in surprise and innocence. “No, certainly, to give my life to the Maker is a noble calling.” A pause, another glance up at him only to see that his expression was a mix of incredulity and pity. “It shall simply take me some time to remember my station now.”_

_Dropping her gaze once more, she gave him a weak, watery smile, as if she didn’t quite believe the words herself._

_His looked gentled, “I can understand that, certainly.”_

_If his dossier was correct, he_ did _understand. Elena was suddenly aware of just how alone there were. Which was strange indeed–she hadn’t been left to her own devices since arriving in Kirkwall’s Chantry two weeks ago. Though they had’t spoken save for her first day here, she had seen him around, at meals, at worship, always watching her or rather, the cluster of novitiate sisters she often worked with. Had he arranged for them to be alone? Elena’s mind reeled at the possibilities, mapping out each of his possible motivations and moves, trying to decide how best to proceed._

_Perhaps the former rake was not as contrite as he led everyone to believe. Could it be while she was attempting to ensnare him, he was laying a trap for her? He was so close to her, certainly closer than correct behavior between Chantry brothers and sisters dictated. He had touched her for Andraste’s sake, chucked her under the chin._

_That would certainly make her goals easier in the long run. Nothing would force a gentleman to the altar faster than a compromised, aristocratic Chantry sister._ So, let the prince catch me, but not so quickly that he suspects that I willingly followed him to my ruination _, she mused. Perhaps this assignment would be easier than her father thought. She might even be out of this dreary place and living in comfort at Starkhaven’s royal palace by Satinalia._

And a widow by Wintersend…

_Sebastian looked as if he would say something more, his big body tilted towards her, his eyes liquid and warm, but the sharp tones of Sister Patrice’s voice cut through the library. “Sister Elena, you’re needed at vespers!”_

_Elena started at the woman’s call, and quickly turned away from Sebastian as if guilty or embarrassed by his closeness. “Excuse me.”_

_As she dashed across the room towards the frowning older sister, he called out to her._

_“Perhaps I’ll see you here tomorrow, Sister Elena.”_

_She paused in the door, turning back to give him a small smile._ Count on it, your Highness _, she thought, before following Patrice through the hallway._

As the memory swarmed her, Sebastian must noticed the look in her eyes, the slight frown worrying her mouth, and he brought her hands to his lips, turning them and brushing a soft kiss across her palms. The action jolted her from her reverie, and she shook her head, clearing the ghosts of the past. She slammed down the metals doors of her mind, blocking the unpleasant memories and emotions.

When he spoke, Sebastian’s voice was gentle, as if he were speaking to a half wild animal. “You know I’ve forgivin’ you, Elena-lass. Not that you’ve done anythin’ that warrants forgivin’.”

Though they were no doubt meant to bring comfort, his words were like a slap to the face. Elena could feel a floodgate of emotion begin to break open, though she fought to keep her voice steady.

“How can you say that? I deceived you, encouraged your revenge, pressured you to break your vows, to turn your back on the Chantry–”

He leaned forward, curling her fingers around his and pressing their entwined hands to his chest and shushed her. “Hush, _hush_. We both know your father made you do those things.”

“I still did them.”

He shook his head either to denying her guilt.

“Regardless, this is no’ what I wanted to speak with you about.” He paused, waiting a beat until she seemed to be more settled. Taking a deep breath, he spoke, “come work for me.”

“What?” Elena jerked her hands out of his grasp. Of all the things she thought he would say, that was not one of them.

Sebastian leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “I need you at my side. Today has proven that–surely you agree. You have political acumen, a discreet and insightful knowledge of those in power. You know how to read people and situations to the best advantage. Be my political advisor. With you at my side, we’ll be the most formidable team in the Free Marches, perhaps all of Thedas.”

Elena took a deep breath and let his words wash over her. They held a certain appeal–the power he offered her, the ability to write not only her own fate, but the fate of millions. Yet, despite that, there were so many reasons why it was a terrible idea for her to take his offer. Even _if_ she didn’t work for Inquisition, even _if_ her father wouldn’t somehow use her connection to Sebastian to his advantage, even _if_ she wasn’t with Cullen…she would never trust that this offer came without strings.

Being Sebastian’s political advisor, working side-by-side with him, was only one step away from being his wife. That was what he was really asking, she knew. Come back to him, _choose_ him. But she didn’t know if she trusted herself with him. Or him with herself.

Silence filled the room, punctured only by the ticking of his clock, and she realized that he was waiting for her to answer.

“I appreciate your offer, Sebastian, but I have a job,” she paused, taking in the stern set of his jaw–he wouldn’t take her rejection easily. “Inquisition has been very good to me. I can’t just walk away from them.”

His frown deepened. “Verra good to you? I saw the news coverage, lass. You were nearly blown to bits workin’ for Inquisition.” Reaching forward, he feathered his fingers over her bruised face. “This happened just last night.”

She froze, staying perfectly still, neither leaning into his touch, nor pulling away. “Yes it did, after meeting with your associates.”

Anger flashed through his eyes, “I told you, Livius and Samson are no’ my associates.” After a long moment he dropped his hand. “Think on it, at least.”

Elena nodded, and stood, Sebastian rising with her. She needed to get out of that office. Despite the fact that she knew she should walk away, his offer was tempting. And if he had enough time, he might just convince her to stay. Still, she knew she couldn’t. It was better for both of them.

“I believe this concludes our conversation,” she murmured, smoothing her skirt and gathering her bag.

Sebastian helped her gather the incriminating photographs she had spread across his desk. As he handed them to her, he spoke, “Lady Montilyet informs me that Inquisition will be at Empress Celene’s Winter Ball. Perhaps we can discuss my offer there.”

She gave him a tight smile, taking the pictures and stuffing them in her bag. “I’ll save you a waltz. Until then, Your Highness.”

Sebastian kissed the back of her hand, before leading her to the door. “Whatever your answer, lass, I’m verra pleased to see you again. To know you’re well.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her uninjured cheek, before opening the door and signaling to the page to lead her through the villa. As Elena walked down the marble corridor, her heels echoing behind her, she had to repress the urge to look back at him, for she knew without a doubt that Sebastian was standing in the doorway of his study, watching her.

~*~

Cullen knocked quietly on Elena’s bedroom door before pushing it open. She lay sprawled across the elegant hotel bed wearing what he suspected were Dorian’s boxers and tshirt. At the sound, she pulled the pillow of her face and lifted herself onto her elbows.

“Is it nine already?”

Cullen smiled at the sleepy timbre to her voice. “I’m afraid it is. Are you hungry?”

After a quiet car ride back to the hotel, they had both decided to take a nap and then convene again around nine. Cullen had offered to wake her, figuring he’d naturally be up first–his sleep schedule was so out of whack he could rarely grab more than a few hours at a time anyway. They hadn’t talked about what happened with Prince Sebastian either before or after Cullen left the room, though he could tell that Elena was troubled by it. He was too, to an extent–certainly Inquisition’s mission of peace wasn’t going to be as smooth as Josephine had hoped. Still, just for tonight he wanted to leave all the politics and posturing behind. Leave it all behind and simply _be_.

“Starving,” she replied, sitting up fully, and Cullen became painfully aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra as the worn cotton of her shirt hugged her breasts.

“I’ll, um, just order us some room service then,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck and beating a hasty retreat into the living room.

Though they had reconciled, he wasn’t sure how comfortable she might be with anything physical between them, last night notwithstanding. Would she be embarrassed if she noticed he reacted to her body? Would it scare her away? No matter how much he wanted to simply reach forward and touch her, Cullen resolved to let her make the first move.

By the time he’d flipped through the room service menu and placed their order, he heard her bare feet padding across the floor, no doubt done consciously on her part so that she didn’t surprise him. Just as he was about to turn around, her arms came around his waist, her face pressing against his back. With a smile, Cullen placed his hands over her own, his thumb rubbing across the back of her palm.

“I thought we could relax tonight. We can pick up on our mysterious red substance’s trail tomorrow,” he murmured.

“Mmm, sounds like a lovely idea,” she muttered into his back. “What’s for dinner?”

“I ordered one of everything on the menu because I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Elena laughed, and he felt her body shaking against his. Cullen liked it. She turned her head, resting her cheek against his shoulder blade. “I appreciate it. Besides those tea sandwiches I haven’t eaten anything since before the party last night.”

Cullen turned around, his hands traveling along her arms, up her shoulders, until her could cup her cheeks. She looked up at him, all  luminous green eyes and full pouty lips, her breath hitched slightly as he bend his head towards her. _Maker she was beautiful_. Surely her hugging him, clasping him tight and pressing their bodies close together was her indication that she wanted something physical as well as emotional with him.

Elena’s eyes fluttered closed, her cheeks flushed, and Cullen didn’t need any more hints.

He settled his lips against hers, a soft brush first, before he deepened the kiss, teasing the seam of her lips and coaxing them to part. She sighed and relaxed into him, her arms tightening around his waist. He could feel her full, lush breasts pressed against his chest, the heat of her body sinking into him. Cullen stroked his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting every secret, every sweet word she’d ever spoken or held on the tip of her tongue. He felt her fingers trail along his back, lifting the thin cotton of his shirt so that she could caress his skin.

Cullen growled, and, without breaking their kiss, he reached down and lifted her hips so that she wrapped her legs around his waist. Kissing her deeply, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth and worrying the plump flesh, he carried her to the sofa and settled them so that she straddled his hips. He gripped her waist, moved his hands lower, squeezing her firm, pert ass, splaying his fingers across her cheeks and pulling her tight against him. She moaned into his mouth and arched into where he wanted her most, where he was hard and throbbing.

He lifted one hand to tangle it in her hair, tilting her head back so he could deepen their kiss. Her fingers tunneled in his curls, nails scraping over his scalp until he groaned. Cullen could feel the heat of her pressed tight and hot against his thighs and he was painfully aware that only a few layers of clothing separated his aching, heavy shaft from her warm, wet sheath.

His hand still at her hip glided up her waist, slipping under the soft material of her shirt, higher over her stomach, until he stopped, hovering just below her breast. His thumb brushed over the plump curve, teasing at her nipple.

With a gasp, she broke their kiss, arching her back so that her breast thrust into his hand. “Oh, Maker. _Cullen._ I need…”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he panted, pressing a trail of hot, wet kisses along her throat, this thumb continuing his teasing caress on her breast.

He reached the edge of her shirt, and continued his kisses, the material only heightening his anticipation of finally closing his lips around her firm, pebbled peak, until he could feel the silk of her skin press against his face.

She rocked her hips, grinding against him, making his cock ache to be inside of her. In a flash, he twisted them, pressing her into the sofa below him, her legs locked tight around his hips before capturing her mouth with his once more. He met her thrusts, beat for beat, driving the ridge of his cock against the seam of her, cursing their clothing for keeping her sweet heat from him.

“Elena,” he half growled, half moaned. His hand trailing along her hips, reaching for the hem of her shorts, he was ready to pull them down her glorious, pale legs and sink into her body until they both screamed.

And then a knock sounded on the door.

They froze, his heart hammering in his chest just as her certainly was. She looked beautiful, _glorious_ , as if she’d just been ravished. Her lips swollen and red, her cheeks flushed, and eyes bright. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. With a soft sigh, Elena pressed her forehead against his.

“That would be our dinner, I suppose.”

Cullen felt the exasperation, _frustration,_ crawling up his spine that he heard mirrored in her voice, “I suppose you’re right.”

Extricating himself from her body was one of the hardest things he’d had to do, but he managed, before stalking over to the hotel room door and ushering in their food. It took entirely too long to set up in his opinion, but when the hotel staff had finally placed all the food on the dining room table and left, Cullen turned back to Elena. He found her sitting prim and proper on the sofa, as if they hadn’t just been a moment away from fucking frantically like teenagers left alone for the first time.

She gave him a soft smile, her eyes luminous and warm. The look went straight through him, heating his skin and returning the ache to his body. He knew, without her saying a word, that dinner was only an interruption–an intermission–and he would have her in his arms again before the night was out **.**


End file.
